《吕祖全书》Vol. 3

Those who have not yet grasped the true source cannot hope to glimpse even its farthest shore.

The supreme sages were vast in compassion and deeply grieved for the world: people dwell in confusion without knowing it, truth has not been fully penetrated, and so the cosmos grows turbid while the inner light—the luminosity inherent in the heart—is shackled and obscured. No wonder later generations rehearsed names and labels yet never investigated what is real, losing both the supreme sages’ merciful intent to relieve suffering and the original purpose of guiding those who come after. The subtle truth of Patriarch Lü’s Eight Grades Former has circulated for a long time, and many have upheld it; the Eight Grades Latter that followed lay hidden at Linjiang, kept from transmission. Could the Patriarch’s profound teaching to enlighten and save people be buried with it?

Your unworthy disciple Xu Taiji sincerely took refuge, gained a rough understanding of its meaning, and practiced without slackening. One night he dreamed of a figure wearing a yellow cap, girded with a broad sash, with the bearing of an immortal; waking with insight, he resolved to combine the Eight Grades Former and Eight Grades Latter Immortal Scripture in one carving on stone and stone tablets, publish them to the world, and open the path for people to knock upon the gate of the Dao. At that time his fellow disciple Wu Tailand gladly offered funds, wishing to complete the work together with Xu Taiji. Xu Taiji said: “This is to proclaim the orthodox teaching and awaken the world—how could we hoard it in private?” Accordingly, in an auspicious day of the third month of the yimao year, they respectfully invited fellow disciple Zhang Tailun to write the text within Wuyue Pavilion in Wuchang city, and ordered craftsmen to cut and engrave it for circulation in the world. To chant one line of subtle teaching is to rouse the deaf and blind through the ages; to recite several grades of mystery is to bring heterodox paths back to the right. What was hidden becomes clear, what was dark shines forth, and everyone knows there is a compass to follow. Thus the learning of nature and life need not fall into empty vagueness without foundation. May those of like mind come to receive it.

Those who compiled this edition were not deeply versed in literary style; they merely recorded the intent behind combining and printing this book, writing it at the end as a colophon. The date was the sixteenth day of the fifth lunar month in the yimao year of the Kangxi reign (1675).

The table of contents for Volume Twelve of the Wupin Xianjing (Five-Grade Immortal Scripture) includes: Preface, Hymn in Praise of the Five-Grade Scripture, and the five chapters—Grade One: Observing the Mind and Removing Delusions; Grade Two: Laying the Foundation and Gathering the Medicine; Grade Three: The Cauldron and the Furnace for Refinement; Grade Four: Emptying Form and Emptying Life; Grade Five: Discarding the Shell and Issuing Forth the Yang Spirit—followed by the Biography of Master Fu and the Brief Preface to the Five-Grade Scripture. These five grades are the five levels of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice: gazing inward at the heart-mind and clearing away wandering thoughts; establishing the foundation and gathering the body’s vital essence and qi (what the alchemical tradition calls the “medicine”); taking body and mind as the cauldron and furnace of the work; returning form and life-destiny to emptiness; and finally, the Yang spirit emerging by leaving the bodily shell.

The brief preface states: the principles of Heaven, Earth, and human beings all fall within the number “five.” Heaven has the five stars; Earth has the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water); the human being has the five senses and is endowed with the five moral natures (commonly Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi, and Xin—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness), and moves among the five human relationships (ruler and minister, father and son, husband and wife, elder and younger sibling, friend and friend). They generate and overcome one another, oppose yet also complete one another. The power of “five” is truly immense.

Lü Dongbin expounded these five grades because when the heart—the “Heavenly Sovereign”—is settled and at ease, the whole person follows its lead. The text opens with “contemplating the heart and clearing delusion”: only after delusion is cleared can one apply oneself swiftly to cultivation. Next comes “laying the foundation and gathering the medicine”—establishing the base and taking the inner elixir, that is, nurturing true qi (vital energy) and refining primordial jing (essence). Refining the medicine requires a furnace and cauldron, so the sequence continues with “setting the cauldron and tending the furnace”; in neidan (internal alchemy), body and mind serve as furnace and vessel. Lest readers mistake what furnace and cauldron mean and drift into heterodox side paths, nothing in outward appearance should be grasped—hence “emptying form and loosening attachment to life and nature.” When both form and emptiness are released, the yang shen (pure yang spirit attained in practice) arises; the process is almost no longer under personal will, and one need only wait in stillness for the work of cultivating the Way to reach its end. That is why the series closes with “leaving the shell and the yang emerging.” All five grades turn on this single heart. Though there are five grades, they resolve into attaining the One—as the Five Phases return to yin-yang, yin-yang to taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), and taiji itself rests upon the nameless origin beyond form.

The argument is finely woven and the meaning deep; it gathers the essential purport of vast Daoist scriptural collections—not merely filling in what the Eight Grades had left unsaid. If one has no aspiration for the Way, that is one matter; but once the aspiration is there, how can one fail to give it one’s whole heart?

Preface to the Scripture of the Five Grades

About half a li east of the Wusheng Gate on the north side of the provincial capital of Chu stood a small temple called Qizhen (“Dwelling in Truth”). Backed by hills and facing a lake, with thick woods and bamboo and few residents or visitors, it was smaller than many monasteries yet quieter and more secluded—truly a place where immortals and perfected ones might rest.

Long ago there lived Master Fu outside the city walls, born with an unusually keen spiritual root and bright nature. He had long revered Lü Dongbin and, together with like-minded neighbors, formed a Lü Dongbin fellowship, set up an altar, and invited spirit writing through the planchette. In the jìwèi year of the Kangxi reign (1679), Lü Dongbin happened to travel through Chu, saw purple qi (auspicious vapor) hanging in the sky, and knew that clear-sighted people were present, so he descended through the flying-phoenix spirit-writing rite. Most who gathered at that altar were scholars—a gathering that could truly be called a grand occasion.

From this point begins the exposition of the Five Grade Immortal Scripture. Fu Chongzheng attended at Patriarch Lü’s side; Lü Dongbin privately instructed him in the profound essentials and recounted their past karmic ties. Fu Chongzheng awakened on the spot. Once he had clarified his inherent nature, his attendance at the exposition grew all the more devout. Patriarch Lü therefore greatly unfolded the subtle and vigorously proclaimed the wondrous: he fixed the grades according to the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) and the Five Constants (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, trustworthiness), and drew the diagrams after the images of the Hetu, Luoshu, and hexagram lines.

The scripture treats the human mind as master of the whole person and identifies deluded thoughts as the root of obstruction on the Way. “Observing the mind and removing delusion” honors the root; “laying the foundation and gathering the medicine”—in Neidan, a metaphor for establishing the foundation and taking up pre-heaven vital essence—points to true practice; “refining in furnace and crucible”—with body and mind as the furnace and cauldron of cultivation—explains the elixir locus; “emptying form and voiding life” means forgetting the physical form; “shedding the shell and bringing forth yang” means the holy embryo—the Neidan image of accomplishment—is complete. One must then keep the precepts with extra care; when merit and practice are fulfilled, one awaits the decree to ascend.

Though the text is short, its meaning runs deep and gathers the wondrous principle of cultivating truth. When the Five Grades were expounded in the past, the good guide Fu was present; Patriarch Lü therefore unfolded in full detail the precious raft that ferries beings, to benefit the many. Students who revere and trust it, reflect deeply, and strive to penetrate it will come close to gaining the Way.

Respectfully prefaced by Huang Chengshu, Hermit of Yixing of Shaxian (an ancient county in the region of present-day Wuhan).

Compiled by Liu Tishu, Child of Wuwo of Yiling; collated by his son Liu Yincheng (Qinghui) and nephew Liu Yuncheng (Qingxu); revised by Huang Chengshu, Hermit of Yixing of Shaxian.

Original Preface to the Five Grade Immortal Scripture

The Wupin (Five Grades) section of the Qizhen Dadian (Canon of Nesting in Truth) is now complete. An instruction was received from Fuyou Dadi (Imperial Lord of Trustworthy Blessing—the posthumous title of Lü Dongbin), which stated: “Formerly, in places such as Piling (in present-day Changzhou, Jiangsu), the Bapin (Eight Grades) was descended and expounded, probing the root of principle, clearing away defilement and rectifying true Qi (vital energy), so that the great Dao (the Way) shone forth again and the fundamental aim of our lineage was fully realized. Now, in Ezhou (the Wuhan region), teaching disciples to rescue all beings from suffering, the Wupin is therefore presented—to clarify what the Bapin had not yet made plain, and to speak the secret meanings the Bapin had not yet voiced. The precious raft that ferries people across (the teaching that leads beings out of the sea of suffering) has, at this point, fully disclosed the subtlety of the most recondite Dao, reaching the ultimate purport of cultivation in our school. Moreover, the patterns of heaven and earth, generation and restraint, all hinge on ‘five’: in Daoism they are called Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth (the Five Phases); in Confucianism, benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness; in Buddhism, birth, aging, illness, suffering, and death—hence the Book of Changes also says that ‘the five positions correspond to one another in mutual accord.’ To expound this Wupin is precisely in accord with the logic of mutual generation and restraint, and with the great Dao of unceasing vitality.”

“You are to revere and uphold it, enter into the heart of compassion, never forget the bodhi mind (the resolve to awaken and deliver others), and ponder this instruction again and again.”

The Dadi’s grace toward the Three Chu lands (the ancient Chu region, roughly present-day Hunan and Hubei) exceeds a hundredfold what was shown toward Wuling (the Guanzhong area around the Han dynasty imperial tombs, by metonymy the capital region). It is respectfully recorded below so that fellow practitioners may circulate and read it.

In Praise of the Wupin Jing

Jade Toad Immortal (Bai Yuchan, Song-dynasty Daoist master) praises:

With the most reverent bow. Fuyou Dijun (Trustworthy Blessing Sovereign Lord) descends riding a crane and phoenix carriage from amid white clouds, spreading teaching and pointing out where the lost may turn; the sound of the Lankavatara (here, the profound dharma voice) awakens all who are blind and unawake.

Great Han Immortal (a Daoist perfected title) praises.

The venerable one whose wisdom-sun radiates with awesome light and whose stillness universally illumines—this master serves as the eyes of the world. He would set fords and bridges across the sea of suffering, and so proclaimed secret scriptures at the Mysterious Pass (xuanguan), that subtle gate of inner cultivation. When the udumbara flower—the rare auspicious blossom said to bloom only at the coming of a sage—opens, the subtle voices of kalavinka and other heavenly birds turn and flow. Withered spiritual shoots seemed near to breaking, yet from beyond the clouds a clear sky poured down the rain of the Dharma (fayu), teaching like gentle rain. Between cinnabar clouds, purple qi, and white mist, the ten thousand sounds fell silent and only the speech of Heaven was heard. Then, closing the eyes and settling the mind, ears pricked to listen in stillness, they exhausted the inverted delusions of this floating life. All who heard the teaching rejoiced in the Dharma; standing respectfully in the immortal assembly like wild geese in ordered ranks, none failed to leap with joy. Music played like celestial harmony; empty flowers were about to become heavenly blossoms drifting down. The crowd’s spiritual sickness was cured by the master; every character of the sacred text was elixir. May we together with sentient beings in the ten directions realize the supreme awakening of the Golden Immortal (jinxian), the highest fruit of immortality. In the final age, the affinity for immortality was born from the master’s mouth; his awesome spirit and miraculous conduct are beyond thought. If we would repay his kindness, we should deliver countless billions of beings.

The True Person of the Grand Historian before the Emperor praised him thus: Celestial-human patriarch, the Great Sage Chunyang (Chunyang, honorific title of Lü Dongbin)—the subtle purport of the mysterious teaching relies entirely on his exposition. The sea of suffering is precisely bewildering; sentient beings drift without boat or ferry, and the immortal pointed out the ford and bridge. From within the nine heavens he undertook great rescue, using scriptures of immortality that penetrate the subtle and fine to ferry beings across the bitter sea.

Chapter One: Observing the Mind and Eliminating False Thoughts

At that time, the Emperor Lord Who Propagates the Correct Teaching (Yanzheng Dijun, an imperial title of Lü Dongbin), because the common people below were deluded—cunning and deceitful as demons, fierce and vicious as wolves and tigers—and had accumulated every kind of offense, with the whole age thus and Chu especially so—in the autumn of the jìwèi year, the Supreme Lord was angered and commanded the gods who record transgressions to examine the people’s cases one by one. According to heavenly law their allotted calamities were fixed; those who would perish in the calamity were beyond counting. The Emperor Lord, in great compassion, wept as he memorialized upward: “The people below are not that they do not wish to reform.”

The common people below are not unwilling to cease evil and cultivate good, or to seek fortune and avoid calamity—they simply cannot fathom the supreme Dao, and their unruly minds are hard to check. Thus they indulge wild thoughts and act recklessly, entangling themselves in karmic nets and offending the vast Heaven (Haotian). I beg leave to go down to the human realm and secretly enlighten beings who have not yet awakened, clearly pointing out the essentials of cultivating body and nature, and the principle of preserving the heavenly norm while restraining desire, so that all beings may easily understand and on their own dispel deluded thoughts and tame their wild hearts. Not only can they escape the bonds of suffering; those who persist in practice without retreat may in the end become immortals or buddhas. I earnestly ask the Holy Sovereign to permit me to go and carry this out.

Heaven, whose virtue is love of life, gladly approved the Patriarch’s petition.

When the Patriarch came forth, the Left-Flank Immortal Liu (Liuzhenren) bowed and said: “Immortals and buddhas of past and present have pitied living beings and long proclaimed countless wonderful teachings, hoping that upon hearing them people would believe and follow them and avoid falling into samsara (the unending cycle of birth and death). Alas, beings refuse to believe and accept, and instead slander the teachings—thereby increasing their evil retribution and plunging into the great hells. Now the Compassionate Lord (Cizun), though endowed with spiritual power and vow, even with a thousand hands and a thousand eyes in one body—how could he lift every drowning person under heaven?”

The Patriarch said: “The scriptures and methods spoken by immortals and buddhas are deep and subtle in wording and meaning; the people of a turbid age have dull roots and shallow wisdom and cannot penetrate them. Moreover, in the Great Dao proclaimed by immortals and buddhas through the ages, there are still secret depths never yet heard. When I descend now, it is first to make plain the heart-method of the sages (the essential art of cultivating the mind), and second to dare to expound the hidden purport of immortals and buddhas. Even if I thereby bear the guilt of rashly revealing heaven’s secrets—as long as living beings can ascend, why should I refuse and alone accept demotion to the human realm?”

When Immortal Liu heard this, he was both grieved and glad. Then the Emperor Lord, leading the celestial kings, true immortals, and holy assembly, on the auspicious ninth day of the tenth month descended and addressed the great disciples:

All sentient beings turn away from awakening and cling to worldly dust; they live in vain and die empty, scorched in the house of fire and sunk in the sea of suffering. This is because they indulge greed, anger, and delusion, wounding their own heart-nature, letting guest dust cover the bright pearl of their original luminosity and deluded clouds hide the clear sun—so they drift into the various destinies of rebirth with no day of release.

I regard all beings as my own children; how could I bear to see you fall into samsara and endure endless pain? Therefore I explain to you the profound teaching of immortals and Buddhas. I am the physician king who heals diseases of the heart. Quiet your minds and listen closely—I will speak to you now:

If you wish for long life, you must realize the great Dao; to realize the great Dao, you must first practice guanxin (observing the mind). The method of guanxin is this: turn the eyes inward to look within, and turn the ears to hear the profound teaching of the Buddhas. I am the physician king who heals your heart’s illness. Quiet your minds and listen—I will expound this for you.

All sentient beings who wish to attain longevity must apprehend the Dao (the Way)—the root of all things. To apprehend the Dao, one must first observe the mind (guan xin—inwardly watching one’s own thoughts). The method is this: do not let the eyes look outward, the ears listen outward, the nose smell outward, the tongue taste outward, or the intention (yi) race outward; gather everything back and turn attention inward. When the spiritual light of the mind’s illumination (shen guang) is about to shine outward, at once return it to shine on yourself; when a stray thought arises, notice it immediately. The ancients said: “Do not fear that thoughts arise; fear only that you notice them too late.” Notice a thought as it arises—in that instant of noticing, it is gone. So when a thought is just about to sprout, do not let it grow branches and leaves; immediately turn the light back to illumine the inner self, and the root of the stray thought is cut off at once.

A Daoist lay practitioner (daoyi jushi) said: “When it runs outward, pull it back; once it is back, let it go.” The Dragon-Tiger Scripture (Longhu Jing, a Daoist neidan text) says: “The finest secret is first to preserve, then to forget: first settle this mind so the heart is empty and still; then forget that settling so the heart’s capacity opens wide.” That is the highest teaching of the ancient sages. Therefore, to quell all kinds of stray thoughts, the key is observing the mind.

The Buddhist tradition (Shi shi) says: “When you see that the five aggregates (wuyun—form, feeling, perception, volition, consciousness) are empty, you can pass through every hardship.” Thus one stray thought clearly seen through—that falsity is truth; one thought awakened to—that thought is Bodhi (awakening). The Yin Convergence Classic (Yinfu Jing) says: “Hold the spiritual candle to break through deluded feeling; grasp the sword of wisdom to cut off craving and desire.” When deluded feeling is broken, the spiritual candle can be set aside; when craving and desire are severed, the sword of wisdom can be discarded as well. All of this belongs to the method of observing the mind.

Since one already knows to observe the mind (guan xin—inwardly watching one’s own thoughts), one should understand the substance of mind. This mind, from beginningless time, neither arises nor perishes, neither goes nor comes; it is utterly empty and still yet utterly luminous, utterly real yet utterly sincere—empty and open, yet clear, bright, and never dimmed. It cannot be measured by “being” or “non-being” (duo, to measure), nor glimpsed through form, color, or appearance. Traced before heaven and earth, its beginning is unknown; pursued after heaven and earth, its end is unknown. Heaven and earth rely on it to cover and bear the myriad things; sun and moon rely on it to shine on the four directions; empty space relies on it to become vast; the myriad spirits rely on it for change and unobstructed passage.

The sages of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism who teach cultivation of the Way all teach nothing other than cultivating this one mind. As ordinary beings, this mind is not diminished; as immortals or buddhas, this mind is not increased. Buddhism says: “The mind’s essence is bright, complete, and penetrating, embracing the ten directions; its substance is like empty space, without boundary—present right here.” Once a thought moves, one turns against it. Alas, sentient beings do not recognize their own original mind: they take the thief for their son, let the servant command the master, and burden true nature with falsity—hence they turn without cease in birth and death, deeply pitiable.

When the immortal master had finished expounding the scripture, five-colored auspicious clouds covered the hall and propitious qi circled the sanctuary. Then Mo Lai Fozi stepped from the ranks to praise: expounding the classic and delivering beings from calamity, with cherishing life at heart; wherever the flute’s sound reaches, worldly dust disperses; the compassionate Fuyou Lord (an honorific title for Lu Dongbin), honored by immortals and buddhas alike, rescuing and ferrying with impartiality. Zhen Lai Fozi together with the true immortals and divine kings were greatly rejoiced; they bowed in acceptance and withdrew.

Opening the Foundation and Gathering the Medicine, Part Two: This section is titled “Opening the Foundation and Gathering the Medicine.” Opening the foundation means laying the root of practice; gathering the medicine means, in internal alchemy (neidan), taking up the body’s own refined qi and related “medicines” for refinement and nourishment.

Once a person has this physical body, they lose their original nature and turn away from their innate destiny. The seven po (the seven yin-oriented souls of the human body) leave their proper abode; the three corpses (the three worms said in Daoism to lodge in the body and deplete vital essence) ruin the inner gates of the body; the six thieves (desires stirred by the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) clash with one another; and the four great elements (earth, water, fire, and wind) prove empty and insubstantial. Those who could have lived long grow short-lived; those who should have enjoyed great longevity die young; the clear turns turbid; the wise turns foolish. People lose the qi of the Holy Father and Holy Mother (prenatal yin-yang—the primal yuan qi of the cosmic parents) and are left with only the qi of the ordinary father and ordinary mother (the postnatal qi passed on by one’s birth parents). Then they know nothing but eating and drinking, no different from beasts with fur and horns.

Only sages can rely on the Great Dao to perfect this form, use Daoist arts to extend life, draw in boundless yuan qi to sustain a limited body, shed the qi of the ordinary father and mother, and become wholly the qi of the Holy Father and Holy Mother. Thus, by cultivating both nature and form, becoming a Buddha or a patriarch is not far to seek.

Understand this: before this body was born, each breath linked one’s qi with the mother; after birth, each breath links qi with heaven. If one can sit quietly within the circle (the field of gathered mind in seated meditation), and in wuwei (non-action), without raising deluded thoughts, turn the mind inward in contemplation, a trace of true yang—like lightning, like dew—will naturally surge into the Xuan Guan (the subtle gate where qi first stirs), pass through the long valley, and reach straight to Niwan (the upper Dantian at the crown), where it becomes jade liquid and, with a clear ringing, descends into the five viscera. Then one stirs the Xun wind (the gentle inner wind that follows the breath), drives out the evil from the three passes and nine orifices, and washes away illness from the five viscera and six bowels. One must also use shen (spirit) to steer qi, use qi to settle the breath, and let every inhalation and exhalation turn with it, merging Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) and empty void into one solid elixir foundation (the root on which the elixir forms)—like spring qi putting forth roots, or like a divine dragon warming a pearl.

Hence Patriarch Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) said: “The broth in the golden cauldron is always kept warm; the ash in the jade furnace drives off cold.” Once the yang foundation (the root of pure yang) is established, the key is to nurture it with mind-intention, store the spirit, and guard it. So it is said: when the fire turns cold, mind-intention has scattered; when the fire flares up, mind-intention burns bright. If you know how yang draws yin, you need not worry that the “medicine” lacks firmness; if you know how to use that medicine to adjust and rescue the firing, how could you scorch the golden elixir dry?

When it comes to gathering the medicine, one must work within youpu (intentional cultivation): at first one must gather the mind-spirit and hold it without scattering. Hence it is said: when the fire turns cold, it is because the mind’s intent has dispersed; when the fire rises, it is because the mind’s intent burns bright. If one understands using Yang to draw forth Yin, one need not fear that the medicine will not be solid; if one understands using the medicine to regulate and rescue the firing process, how could one refine the Golden Elixir into something dry and fierce?

Gathering the medicine belongs to youpu, yet one must first understand wuwei (non-action) before youpu can truly succeed. The Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) says: “The subtlety of the utmost Dao is deep and dark.” The Daode Jing says: “Deep and dark—within it there is Jing (essence).” This Jing is utmost purity. True Jing is the true seed; the true seed rests in empty openness. Though the true seed is empty and open, gathering the medicine still requires applying effort right here.

What is the true seed? It is also called “Yang Jing,” or “mysterious pearl,” or “yellow sprout,” or “true lead,” or “Xuanpin” (the mysterious gateway of generation)—the names are many and hard to exhaust. Whatever has form and moves belongs to muddy dust—how can it be compared to this?

Therefore Yunfang Zhenren—Yunfang was the style name of Zhengyang Dijun (Zhongli Quan)—said: “The whole body belongs to Yin; where is the Yang Jing? Whoever can recognize the qi-sign of Yang Jing, with signs continuing in succession, will penetrate and see clearly.”

I have said: “From deep darkness and obscurity arises vagueness; from vagueness and drift a single clump coalesces.” That clump is “true lead.” Buddhists call it bodhi; Confucians call it “the thread that runs through”; Daoists call it the “seed.” One who cultivates truth but does not recognize this seed is either a person who falls into empty void or one who sits in dry stillness—never able to return to the root.

Side-path teachings spread widely; people rely only on what masters transmit, without any proper track, yet still call it the “seed.” Cultivators who do not know the seed are either void-fallen or dry-sitting—they cannot return to the root. These side paths know only the narrow zi hour and do not know the breadth of zi. If one understands the living zi hour (when Yang qi naturally stirs, not bound to a fixed clock time), why worry that the medicine cannot form the elixir!

When the host of spirits has already attained free flow, one must still fight several battles with the evil dragon. Blood-color congeals into xuanhuang—the hue where heaven’s black and earth’s yellow meet, pointing to yin and yang locked in fierce exchange—right at the moment when separation is imminent yet not yet complete. Male and female are in union (inner alchemy borrows this image for the meeting of yin and yang qi within the body); spirit and awareness drift hazily. Do not let essence and qi rush out and be lost. What is called “from stillness into movement” means drawing forth true yang and adding it to one’s true mercury—the yin-natured medicament. Wuxu (the central intention-earth of the five phases) can make true lead—the yang-natured medicament—descend; while the medicinal sprout is still tender, quickly gather it into the high lane. Yu Xu the Perfected said: When true lead and mercury are matched, the medicine itself holds the mysterious vajra within. Patriarch Wang Chongyang said: Wen and wu firing (gentle nurturing fire and intense refining fire) must be settled in stillness; old and tender, floating and sinking—all must be weighed with care.

When the master had finished expounding, sweet dew descended at that hour and the immortals bowed their heads. Then Perfected Lord Yuchan stepped forward, stood straight with hands joined, and praised: Parent of the four modes of birth (womb, egg, moisture, transformation), benevolent sovereign lord—you unfold the elixir formula and reveal celestial patterns; mist you exhale becomes auspicious clouds, breath you shout scatters the dense haze, and all guests of the rosy clouds listen with joy. Perfected Yuchan and the fairies of every grotto were all delighted. He ordered the disciples at the altar to receive the teaching devoutly, then withdrew.

Grade Three: The Mysterious Cauldron and the Refining Furnace

The furnace is the yanyue lu—the half-moon elixir furnace—also called the “suspended womb.” Xuanpin (the subtle gate where yin and yang enter and exit) gathers here; the infant (the sacred embryo formed within) condenses here; the pearl is perfected here; huangya (the newly sprouted elixir) flourishes here. It is not gold, iron, jade, or stone, nor arsenic (pī) or sand—it is not mineral matter for waidan (external alchemy).

With huangting (the inner “yellow court” in the body) as the cauldron and the mysterious furnace as the dwelling of qi, the hundred vessels mutually fill and the three treasures (jing, qi, shen) unite in harmony. Qian serves as cauldron and Kun as furnace, uprightly nurturing the immortal flower. If there is no ice-soul in the cauldron, yin fluid will not arise and the spirit root of the fire dragon cannot grow. If there is no jade stamen in the furnace, yang qi will not respond and the life-stalk of the water tiger will be cut off. Thus the furnace governs yang and ascent and descent depend on it; the cauldron governs yin and opening and closing are its work. One ascent and one descent, one open and one close—azure dragon and white tiger, golden crow and jade rabbit, heavenly soul and earthly soul cling to one another without letting go, refining the supreme treasure. Neither falling into duality nor stuck in oneness—only then is it called heavenly truth.

When it comes to the fire phases (huohou), everything depends on sustained practice: kindle fire from the navel gate (the pass in the region of the lower dantian beneath the navel), carry water up to the crown of the head, drive the River Cart (internal qi circulating through the Governing and Conception vessels), leave the dusty Sea at the Coccyx (the pass at the tail of the spine), take up residence in the Heavenly Tower, and refine the supreme treasure. Neither falling into twoness nor clinging to oneness—only then may one be called true to Heaven’s nature.

The fire phases likewise rest entirely on practice: fire blazes at the navel gate, water is moved through the crown, the River Cart is driven, one departs the sea at the tail gate, moves to the Heavenly Tower, and ascends further to the Valley of Kunlun (the crown).

Before the elixir is obtained, one relies on military fire (forceful breathing and intent) to smelt and refine, and on Xun wind (gentle, penetrating breath) to fan the flames; one must constantly examine whether the fire phases are appropriate—there is never a moment when this is not required.

After the elixir is obtained, one relies on cultural fire (mild, slow warming and nurturing) to sustain it, and on divine water to nourish it. When it is excessive, reduce; when it is insufficient, supplement—judging the fire phases so they never stray.

Thus the Perfected One of Purple Yang (Zhang Boduan) said: “Ten months of work require preserving breath that is deep, quiet, and unbroken; a lifespan of thirty thousand years lies in a single coming and going.” The Perfected One of Sea Toad (Liu Haichan) said: “Operate the fire phases according to the hexagrams; when the heavenly circuit is complete, an infant is conceived and guards the sea field (the lower dantian).”

At this point the Perfected One Mo Yueding stepped out from the assembly, bowed respectfully with joined hands, and asked: “The Great Dao is originally without words; the supreme image is originally without form. Where there is speech, it should be made clear; where there is form, it should be explained. Do not let a black wind arise and cast one into the abyss of karmic dust. What is the dragon? What is the tiger? What is the crow? What is the rabbit? What is Hun (the ethereal soul)? What is Po (the corporeal soul)? Master, please instruct us plainly, so that the numinous text may be unfolded.”

The Master-Perfected said: “Is it Li? What is the rabbit? What is Hun? What is Po? Master, please instruct us plainly, so that the numinous text may be unfolded.”

Master Shi Zhen said: What Li stands for is the sun, which is mercury—the true mercury of internal alchemy, a figure for the heart-and-mind spirit (shen). Ji earth (the yin earth) is mercury as well. The dragon dwells in water; its transformations never end, and the work of giving life and taking life is hard to fathom. It can raise clouds and send down rain, whip up wind and roll thunder. In the Buddhist tradition there is the poisonous dragon; in the Daoist tradition there is Zhulong, the night-illuminating divine dragon; and within the cavity there is the fire dragon. You must subdue this fire dragon before you can build up the still, cold mercury. What you subdue is the true fire in the heart. When the fire nature no longer flies off and scatters, mercury can accumulate; when mercury accumulates, the dragon hides; when the dragon hides, the fire grows pure; when the fire is pure, yin is exhausted; when yin is gone, true lead and true mercury unite, and the true dragon and true tiger harmonize. Hence the saying: without accumulating mercury, there is no way to obtain lead; without subduing the dragon, there is no way to tame the tiger.

Wu earth (yang earth) originally had no name and was only provisionally called the tiger. The tiger is lead; it is Kan—the trigram of water and the image of the moon—fierce and dry by nature, able to wear down flesh and bone and endanger life. The Yijing says, “Wind follows the tiger,” and also, “Treading on the tiger’s tail, it does not bite.” If a person can tame and nourish it so that it yields through reverence, pre-heaven (xiantian) qi becomes full and the tiger submits. When the tiger is subdued, lead rests in peace; when lead rests, mercury turns empty; when mercury is empty, the tiger becomes spirit; when the tiger is spirit, the dragon appears; when the dragon appears, the tiger surges; when the tiger surges, the dragon ascends.

Master Wuxin said: Facing the outer world without stirring the mind, one breath returns to the root; the myriad spirits turn toward the source—muddy and deep, upheld and long preserved, lofty and vigorous, continuous and unbroken. That is cultivation.

If one says there are no “crow and rabbit” at all, crow and rabbit are only labels. Sun and moon never had a fixed image to begin with; crow and rabbit are borrowed merely for symbolism. Wulou says: For mercury, take the blood from the heart of the golden crow (the sun); for lead, seek the essence from the brain of the jade rabbit (the moon). Wuzhen says: First treat Qian and Kun as the cauldron-vessel (the body-and-mind furnace of neidan), then capture crow and rabbit as the medicinals to cook and refine.

Master Huolong said: The yellow youth in Kan is called the ancestor of mercury; the xuan nu (mysterious woman) in Li is the home of lead. Kan is the father of Qian: Qian stands in primordial obscurity, two yin lines encircling, with a single yang alone in the center—this is “crow Qian.” Because it can fly swiftly, it can move up and down on the yang side and thus complete Qian. Li is the mother of Kun: Kun stands in primordial sinking, two yang lines surrounding, with a single yin alone in the belly—this is the rabbit’s den. Because it can run swiftly, it can move up and down on the yin side and thus complete Kun.

Master Langran said: If man and woman are not in the same chamber, there will be no birth; if lead and mercury are not in the same furnace, there will be no elixir. Zixu Zhenjun said: I have Huang Po (the yellow crone)—the true intent that keeps to the central position and brings the match about. The meaning is to use true intent to lead the yellow youth in Kan to pair with the xuan nu in Li; once husband and wife unite, they at once become pure Qian. This is called taking from Kan to fill Li: drawing the one yang from Kan and placing it in Li, restoring the pre-heaven original body.

Hun and Po are simply another way of speaking about Yin and Yang. Sages use Hun to transform and govern Po, and so they can attain long life; ordinary people use Po to seize and bind Hun, and so their lives are often cut short. Using Hun to move Po is called “extracting Kan to fill Li and restoring my innate original self” (in neidan, “extracting Kan to fill Li” means drawing the true Yang from Kan to fill Li, returning one to the condition before birth).

By day Hun lodges in the eyes; by night Po rests in the liver. In the eyes one sees; in the liver one dreams. Thus sages have awakening without dreams, while ordinary people have dreams without awakening. Rather than talking about dreams within a dream, it is better to find awakening within the dream. Within Po there is Jing; from Jing comes Hun; from Hun comes intention (yi); from intention Po arises again. Po and Hun are also the dragon and tiger, the raven and hare—two, yet also one. Therefore the master of long life said: “When deep in the night the dragon sings and the tiger roars, quickly drive the River Chariot (in neidan, a metaphor for circulating vital energy)—do not pause for even a moment.” The Zhixian Pian says: “What races within the Sea of Qi is called the Vermilion Steed; what flies into the Mud Palace (the upper dantian at the crown) is the White Crow.” (Original note: this Zhixian is not the Zhixian of the Sovereign.) For this reason I say: “Heaven-Hun gives birth to the White Tiger; Earth-Po produces the Green Dragon; carry the treasure to rest in the Mud Palace; move the essence up into the upper palace.”

After the immortal master finished expounding the scriptures, phoenixes danced and luan birds soared; auspicious clouds filled the sky, and all the immortals rejoiced. Then the true person Mo Yueding (a Daoist immortal renowned for Thunder Law) stepped out from the ranks, kowtowed, and offered praise:

“Blazing flames rise in the crescent-moon furnace (in Neidan, the cauldron shaped like a half moon)—yet neither charcoal nor firewood feeds them. The ‘drumming and blowing’ does not depend on outward breath regulation; refinement still requires nurturing spirit within. The Red Maiden (in Neidan, a metaphor for yin essence) rides a dragon circling outside the cauldron; the Golden Elder (in Neidan, a metaphor for yang qi) crosses a tiger rushing toward the heart of the vessel. On the sea-fields one rides a crane, seeking cold jade.”

The Western True Person then stepped forward, kowtowed, offered the same praise, and continued:

“In the western land the golden crow remains; smelt the metal of Dui (the trigram of the west, corresponding to metal in Neidan). The method follows Tun and Meng for adding and withdrawing; the work turns upon the ritual platform—having form, yet returning to formlessness. The elixir completes nine revolutions and returns; the bright pearl shines, its radiance reaching a thousand mountains; jade trees show the colors of spring. On Penglai, stone is touched and transformed, startling the feathered guests (immortal cultivators); in the dusty world the teaching is spread, delivering sentient beings. May every generation hear the profound mystery; may every person embody and unite with the sage heart; may deep illness be lifted and white bones revived; may the iron locks be shouted open, so that ghosts may ascend and be delivered.”

When the praise and vows were finished, they bowed with the other immortals and withdrew.

Section Four: Empty Form, Empty Life

Those who first set out on true cultivation should for a time still the worldly mind. Worldly affairs are busy and disturbing; all kinds of thoughts tangle and pull. When one has just entered the circular wall (the place of closed retreat and seated meditation), settling the mind and concealing the breath—if one lacks the skill to circulate qi, the joints will clog and the pass-orifices will not open; blood will stagnate and qi will bind. Even if one can return the light (inward contemplation of the spirit), the gazing will miss its mark; even if one can open the foundation, there will be no elixir to fill it. Fullness lies in the Xuanying (in Neidan, the subtle place where qi converges); only when the Xuanpin (the Daoist “mysterious female,” the subtle portal of generation) is opened can the various orifices rely upon it and the various points perform their work.

To cultivate the Dao and free yourself from all kinds of suffering, you should apply effort when the sun has not yet risen at Yanggu (the legendary place of sunrise) and yang qi has not yet stirred—this moment is called “passing the gate of human and ghost” (the pass in the body where yin and yang, waking and sleeping, meet). Longmei Immortal said: “The Great Medicine is the root of refining the elixir, and it lies precisely in this juncture of human and ghost in the body.” If at this time you can let the breath settle on its own, sit quietly in silence without stray thoughts, the myriad spirits will be at peace and everything will follow its natural course; your mouth will fill with jade nectar (qiong jin)—sweet, vital fluid—that surges forth vigorously. Then use intention to swallow it, draw it upward through the Multistoried Tower (the throat), gradually to the chest center (danzhong), where it is refined in the middle of the upper abdomen (zhongwan); the light of spirit suddenly gathers, and the ten thousand images are already still. Next divide the qi down both legs to the two kidneys, turn it with the big toes, shift into Yongquan (the sole) to the heels, ascend along the thighs, and at Weilü (the tailbone) unite with the root; pass through the kidney hall, split at the spine to both shoulders, turn through the fingers, wrap from the cheeks around the back of the head, and pour into the crown; then descend to Mingtang (the brow region), receive it on the upper palate, circle back to the palms, pause and separate, and stop at Xuanying (the throat). One circuit is complete; when the number of revolutions is sufficient, it merges with Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) as one. Turn the circuit again and again in this way, and after nine revolutions the elixir is formed. Whether you can turn it freely depends above all on refining form (lian xing). Refining form has five kinds: Golden Fluid Refining Form, Jade Fluid Refining Form, Great Yin Refining Form, Great Yang Refining Form, and Contemplating Mind Refining Form.

There is only one teaching that is not lightly passed on to outsiders: zhenkong lianxing—refining the bodily form within genuine emptiness, so that one no longer clings to the body as “body.” The sage of the Way said: “Set the body aside, and the body is thereby perfected; forget the form, and the form is thereby preserved.” The Classic of Clarity and Stillness says: “Look inward at the mind—within the mind there is no solid ‘mind’; look outward at the form—within the form there is no solid ‘form.’” Without form, form is emptiness; without mind, mind is emptiness. Heaven and earth, antiquity, the void, the underworld, people and ghosts—all are empty. Whatever appears does not last; nothing is worth grasping or pursuing. Cultivate in this way, and one may attain long life, with no end to one’s years.

Master Hongren (the Fifth Patriarch of Chan, Hongren) said: “One who knows how to use this body is like moving a jar. When the person is outside the jar, both jar and body can move freely; when the person is trapped inside the jar, jar and body are dead. This means: when spirit and mind are not bound by the physical form, the body can be at ease.” Those who can empty body and mind find that what would perish can instead live; those who cannot empty them find that what lives can instead perish.

This is also called fen sui xukong—shattering even the notion of “emptiness.” Before one attaches to external conditions, that emptiness is already shattered; there is no need to stir the mind to seek shattering, nor to forcefully suppress it. Once one attaches to conditions and loses this shattered body, one need only still the dull, muddled mind so that it shatters again. These are the essentials of zhenkong lianxing.

The Fourth Patriarch (Daoxin) said: “All afflictions and karmic obstructions are originally empty and still.” The Sixth Patriarch (Huineng) said: “The ordinary person is the Buddha; affliction is bodhi. The preceding thought of delusion is the ordinary person; the following thought of awakening is the Buddha. The preceding thought that clings to objects is affliction; the following thought that leaves objects is bodhi.” Ancient immortals said: “One who can empty the clinging phantom body has a vajra body without end.” Master Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) said: “Swallow one grain of the spiritual elixir into the belly, and then you know that your nature and life are not ruled by Heaven.” He also said: “When karmic obstructions turn into emptiness and stillness, even Yama will let me go free.”

People only worry that this body cannot be emptied. It is nothing more than a bag of pus and blood, coming and going with birth and death, churning cycle after cycle, while black wind (the yin wind that stirs and wears down the physical form) passes through at will. That is why ancient Buddhas and immortals of past ages, when they spoke of genuine practice, invariably spoke of emptiness.

Now, preaching to disciples in Ezhou: the inner meaning is subtle and deep, the lineage’s spirit is clear through and through, and the great Way of immortals and Buddhas is fully set forth in this scripture. You must receive it in faith and pursue it to the end—shatter attachment to the bodily form, refine it, and return to emptiness. Know that the great Dao is true emptiness: when a thought arises, that is illusory form; when thought ceases, that is true emptiness. What is true emptiness like? Like ice melted and water stilled—it is originally one and the same state.

When the immortal master had finished expounding the scripture, auspicious qi rose into the sky and a wondrous fragrance filled the room. The immortals stood reverently with folded hands, received it in faith, and withdrew.

Then the Jade Pure Real Person (Yuqing Zhenren) stepped forward to praise:

Let the mind-nature die completely, and true nature then gives birth to living vitality; guard life, and breath hides within emptiness and stillness. Ultimately there is not a single thing—silent, and the ten thousand concerns are empty. When you can be empty, the Yellow Sprout (huangya, nascent true Yang in Neidan) grows; when you can be void, the wisdom of the true seed is born. Dragon and Tiger (symbols of yin and yang qi in Neidan) meet and unite; “male and female” (Yin and Yang, not worldly marriage) pair and match. You must seize the Cold Jade Soul (han yupo, the essence of true Yin), while yin and yang aid each other, conceive one ball of primordial chaos, and cook it with a mind of trance and dim awareness. Continuous and unbroken, neither cold nor hot; in silence, it is always thus. Split open the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) diagram, step beyond the body built from the Four Greats (earth, water, fire, and wind), and reveal a radiant body hard as vajra, vast and equal to heaven and earth. The true secret of immortals and Buddhas—who can grasp its intent? The ten thousand things cannot bind it; the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) cannot constrain it. To become an immortal, is there a second set of instructions? To enter sainthood is the same single qi. Today the master bestows this teaching and interpretation, broadly saving the dull and ignorant. They bow at the dharma seat and vow that people will uphold it for long ages.

Section Five: Emerging from the Womb and Manifesting Yang (tuotai chuyang—the stage in Neidan when yang spirit leaves the mundane shell).

When the firing phases (huohou) have fully ripened, the true embryo is ready to be born. The infant has long been nourished in the womb; at the end of ten full months it sheds the fetal sheath, rises from Tai Xuan (the wondrous pass) to Tiangu (the Celestial Valley—the upper dantian), and is then called the True Person (Zhenren)—what practitioners also name the “master within.” Buddhists call this the sage; in the Daoist gate it is the infant, also termed the “true seed.” When the embryo is transferred and the vessel is changed (yitan yiding), it pierces the Tai Xuan barrier, splits open the Qian gate, divine light wells up, thunder rolls, and with a turn and a leap it emerges, secretly settling in the space between the qi acu-points—thus opening again into primordial chaos.

That acu-point is the pass where immortals leave the womb and fix their breath, and where the infant finds its root of rest; it is ground one already knows, and one returns by the same path. Once the red child is secure in the quiet realm, sitting in stillness in the place of practice, one must guard it closely and nurture it with care. First one borrows the yellow sprout (huangya) of the Kun mother to foster it, then gathers the living qi of heaven and earth to feed it; what is touched here responds there—movement begins nearby and shows its effect far away. In this, the red child—in every breath in and out, every rise and fall, every advance and retreat, every motion and rest—is wholly at ease. One must watch the heart-mind and clear away delusion, until water runs dry and mountains end, with not a speck of guest-dust or vexation from without; then silence is deep and clear, truth is constant, free and unblocked, and the infant in the mysterious aperture gains great stability.

Warming and nourishing the infant is the first duty of cultivating immortality. Delusion must be removed until one reaches that point where water is exhausted and mountains end, with absolutely no guest-dust or vexation; only then does one reach silent clarity and true constancy, ease without obstruction, so that the infant in the mysterious aperture can be thoroughly secure.

Nurturing the “infant”—the innate primordial spirit (Yuanshen) condensed in internal alchemy (Neidan), not an ordinary child—is the first task on the path of cultivation. Do not let worldly ties intrude from outside, and do not let wandering thoughts disturb you within. In walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, not a moment may be forgotten; in speech or silence, movement or stillness, nothing may be neglected. Guard it as a black dragon watches its pearl, or a loving mother tends her child—protecting it morning and evening, watching over it whether awake or asleep. You must especially hold fast to Guanyuan (the pass in the region of the lower dantian): do not lightly let it go outward, for fear that once it leaves it loses its way, strays from the body, and forgets to return. When years of ripening pass and the nine-year work is complete, the wonder of spiritual responsiveness and transformation appears of itself: the Yang spirit (Yang Shen) manifests, emptiness is fully realized, and you become a diamond-hard body that does not decay, sharing longevity with heaven and earth. Having ascended the immortal palace, you still move among the dusty world, offering Dharma milk (Faru—nourishing teaching for later learners), giving your utmost sincerity, guiding those who follow, and universally saving sentient beings. When three thousand meritorious deeds are complete and eight hundred virtues fulfilled, the golden elixir writ descends with imperial command, and white cranes come to welcome you. Feathered carriages (Yuxuan) bear you; golden light dazzles; strange fragrance drifts; heavenly music sounds together; the spirits of the Xiang River pluck zithers while jade maidens play flutes; on the left are crimson banners, on the right rainbow standards; you fly up to the golden palace and together return to Shiqing (Beginning Azure Heaven in Daoist cosmology).

When the immortal master had finished expounding the scripture, the immortals bowed their heads and all rejoiced. Then the immortal lady Guiying stepped from the ranks, stood properly with folded hands, and praised: expounding the classic and delivering beings from calamity—grace reaching the ten directions; immortal disciples lined up in ranks, praising in one voice; cranes danced and phoenixes soared, purple qi filling the vast heavens.

The merit of the Fifth Section (Wupin) of this scripture was complete. Disciples at the altar thanked the grace of the Emperor of Heaven (Di’en), devoutly bowed to the true immortals and divine kings, vowed faith and acceptance, and then withdrew.

Appended: Biography of Master Fu (Fusheng zhuan).

Mr. Fu of the Qizhen Association was a native of Jiangxia (the Wuchang area of present-day Wuhan). Plain and upright by nature, he cared little for outward appearance. He practiced traditional Chinese medicine and loved the Way, and had long revered Patriarch Lu (Lü Dongbin). He lived outside Wusheng Gate and was close to Chen Yuanfang, Du Guoxiang, Liu Jiuji, and others nearby; together they formed a Patriarch Lu society and used planchette writing to invite the Patriarch down. About half a li east of the city stood a temple called Qizhen, facing Shahu in front and backed by Phoenix Hill. When the water rose, a thousand acres of green waves stretched to the horizon; when it receded, one could reach the temple along the willow-shaded embankment. Mr. Fu often gathered there with his fellow practitioners.

Earlier, when the Patriarch wandered through Chu, he saw purple qi soaring above the northeast corner of the provincial capital and knew an enlightened person was there. In the jìwèi year of the Kangxi reign (1679), he followed the place where the purple light gathered and descended through the planchette. The karmic roots of Mr. Fu’s past lives were unknown even to himself across rebirths, and the Patriarch did not reveal them at the time.

One day the assembly met. Mr. Fu was rebuked by Master Xiong, who oversaw the altar, over some other matter; he simply accepted it. Soon the Patriarch arrived. Before the rite was finished, he was suddenly summoned by the Supreme Lord. The Lord told the Patriarch: “I have a companion on the Way who was originally an ancient Buddha of the Western Paradise, come to Jambudvipa to save sentient beings for more than eight hundred years. He now serves at your planchette sessions. Your subordinates did not know his true identity and wrongly punished him. Go back at once and tell him.” The Patriarch returned to the altar, sharply scolded Master Xiong, and then wrote secret teachings on the sand tray. At those words Mr. Fu awakened in an instant; the secret phrases were never passed on. When he left the hall to bow in thanks, the Patriarch would not accept full obeisance and in the end received only one bow. Mr. Fu later entered deep samadhi, traveled through the cosmos, sometimes in the celestial palaces and sometimes in the Western Land; such marvels were many and cannot all be told.

To give just one or two examples: someone in the community had long been unable to have a child and only obtained a son after praying to Lü Zu (Lü Dongbin). When the child was a few years old he contracted smallpox in a grave form; the whole family pleaded with Fu. Fu offered a prayer to Lü Zu, saying, “Since you have already granted him a child, why must you leave the household wailing?” That night someone saw the Heavenly King Wang seize the smallpox spirit and beat him; the next day the child recovered, and they went to the altar to give thanks.

There was also the Xian Emperor’s Seven-Grade Immortal Scripture (the Xian Emperor is the Mysterious Emperor, the True Warrior Great Emperor). This scripture was commanded by the Supreme Lord and expounded on his behalf by the Wenchang Emperor, with Lü Zu assisting at his side. Each time one grade was completed, it was sent to Fu for review. When the Wenchang Emperor altered wording from the original exposition, Fu said, “The original text was already excellent.” On hearing this, the Wenchang Emperor at once deleted all his changes and restored the original. In this way he won the admiration of both Lü Zu and the Wenchang Emperor.

Fu once told people, “Two buddhas from the West have incarnated among the common folk of the southern countryside; one does not know who will meet them by karmic affinity.” He also said, “There will still be Buddhist scriptures to be expounded in the future.” For this reason the friends of the Hansan daotan earnestly asked Lü Zu to beg the Buddha to come and teach and clarify; the Correct Pointer of the Chan School that is transmitted today came about in just this way. Fu also said, “In the West there is a golden lotus precious terrace; one will be able to ascend it only after five hundred years.” The members of the Qizhen Society all took him as their master, and quite a few at Hansan had seen his bearing on the Way.

Later, when Fujian Province suffered a great drought, Fu took pity on the severity of the disaster, sent his spirit forth to aid relief, and the grain sprang up at once so that there was an autumn harvest. The Supreme Lord held that he had overstepped his authority, specially opened Baolin, transferred him to the Western Land, and summoned him back at the Buddha’s command. As he was about to leave he wrote a poem: “Since entering Nanyan (Jambudvipa, the human realm) eight hundred autumns”—he had only written the first line when his wife and children gathered around weeping; he threw down the brush and passed away. Formerly, because his physical body was still in the world, his imperial patent was not entered in the scriptures.

After his return to the West, other scriptures also record his gao—the titles and decrees conferred by the divine. Immediately following the Supreme Emperor’s gao, he is styled the Great Venerable Sovereign of Stillness (Ji Huang Da Tianzun). Before “Su □ Gao Shang Di,” another passage states that Hansan had finished expounding the Chan lineage and then descended into the palace; when the regions of Qian and Chu came together in assembly, he appeared once more. At every great gathering the patriarch ordered memorials drafted and submitted to express sincere devotion above. To this day, on each sacred festival—his divine birthday—his descendants still unceasingly recite scriptures at Qizhen Daoist temple.

Yihangzi said: Master Fu’s comings and goings were truly extraordinary. He descended from the Western Land; already many generations and a thousand years had passed, yet the Golden Lotus Treasure Platform—the throne on which immortals take their seat—still could be mounted only five hundred years after his transcendence (yuhua). How remote! Is that not measuring heaven and earth with a mayfly, and treating all of antiquity and the present as a single morning and evening? My friend Song Ticheng once accompanied the Master in travel and retreat. He heard that throughout his life the Master lived in a haze, indistinguishable from ordinary people—and that was exactly what set him apart from them.

The headings for juan 13 through 15 of the Sanpin Xianjing are: Preface; upper fascicle of the Qingwei Sanpin Zhidao Jixuan Cantong Miaodian Dasheng Dujie Zhenjing (the Qingwei school’s scripture of the three grades of the utmost Way, penetrating the profound, harmonizing principles, and delivering through the Great Vehicle from kalpa tribulation)—subdivided into sections one through six; the same scripture’s middle and lower fascicles; and the Short Preface to the Sanpin Jing.

I had never read books of Buddhism or Daoism in my life. In the year Jiayin I obtained Patriarch Lu’s (Lu Dongbin) Sanpin Jing (Three Grades Scripture). After reading it I sighed deeply: “If not for this scripture, this life would almost have been lived in vain.” The scripture has three fascicles, entirely in four-character lines; even where lines are long, they break down into four-character units. The thought pours forth like ten thousand bushels of spring water gushing wherever it may, like the waters of the Yellow River rising from heaven—winding a thousand turns, pouring straight into the sea—almost as if no human hand could have written it. It probes the principles of Heaven and humankind, runs through Confucian and Buddhist teaching, and points out the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing) on the human person with particular subtlety. Formerly Master Zhu (Zhu Xi) wrote a preface to the Doctrine of the Mean, saying: having looked through the books of sages of past ages, nothing used to grasp the main thread and lay bare deep meaning is as clear and thorough as this. I say the same of the Sanpin Jing.

Preface to the Qingwei Sanpin Jing

The Qingwei Sanpin was expounded by Patriarch Lu. The Jiangxia scholar Gu Xingshu, together with his fellow student Song Ticheng and the Wu clan, used it to grasp the main thread and lay bare deep meaning; nothing is as clear and thorough as this. I say the same of the Sanpin.

The Qingwei Sanpin (Three Grades) was expounded in descent by Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin). Gu Xingshu, a licentiate from Jiangxia, together with his fellow student Song Ticheng and companions Wu Yishu, Qiao Yishu, Gongshu, and others, were on good terms and had long agreed to practice spirit writing (fujix—inviting immortals to descend and write through the planchette), sincerely inviting Patriarch Lü. Yishu was skilled at the qin. One day, as he was playing and the piece was nearing its end, an immortal descended; on inquiry, it was indeed Patriarch Lü. His poetry was lofty and unfettered, as if shed of worldly grime; his brush moved swift as flight. When they tested him with various matters for verification, all were astonished and convinced. Before long he issued instructions to expound the Sanpin, and the sessions opened on the upper floor of the Song household. At that time those who came out of devotion to the Dao included licentiates from the same prefecture—Lu Sishu, Yu Shenshu, Yelü Jinshu, fellow student Yang Chuanshu, Fu Jingshu from Hanyang, Yin Youshu and Tongshu and his younger brother Weishu from Jiang—who gathered in turn; Lu Xunshu, Wang Zunshu, Ma Mushu, and An Yicheng also assisted from the side. Later, because the Song family’s upper room was cramped, they moved to the Qiao residence. But expounding scripture is a weighty affair, and the immortal’s presence is solemn; a noisy, dusty dwelling might invite irreverence, so they chose a site for an altar in the northeast corner of the city—the former home of Grand Secretary Chen Dazhang of Xiling. Chen was related by marriage to the Yin family; on hearing of the plan he gladly helped, contributing silver and funds to build, and took refuge in the Dao. At that time An Hengshu, Li Wushu, Song Zhenshu, Wang Xingshu, Qian Nengshu, Chen Chongcheng, and others in the assembly all vied to donate, hiring craftsmen and gathering materials; in less than a year halls and pavilions rose in order—the place known as “Hansan Palace” (Palace Embracing the Three). While the first fascicle was being expounded, rules were not yet complete. Only after the altar moved into the palace were regulations set: some served to preside over the expounding altar, some chanted scripture at the spirit altar, some managed memorials submitted upward, some collated meaning and wording, some tended incense and candles and relieved the poor and solitary—each strictly kept to their duty.

From the renwu year to the jiashen year, the Lingwen (scriptures revealed by immortals) were finally written down. At first two sets of printing blocks were carved: one sent to Wudang Mountain, one kept in this temple. By the renchen year, printing was fully complete and this great work was finished. Thereafter the immortal scripture spread widely and people everywhere took it as a model. Since Sun Shoushu of Shangyuan (an ancient county) changed it to an edition easy to circulate, more than one house has done so.

Long ago the Buddha said to Shariputra (a disciple of the Buddha): “Such wondrous Dharma—Tathagatas speak it only when the time is ripe; before that they did not teach it because the moment for teaching had not come.” Confucius said: “Stop when you should stop, act when you should act. In movement and stillness miss no right moment, and the Great Dao stays bright.” Indeed, when immortals and Buddhas expound and sages establish teaching, nothing goes beyond shun shi—responding to the right time.

I fear that the names of the patrons who first undertook printing the Sanpin (the three grades of scripture named in this text) may be lost if years pass, so I record them in detail at the head of the scripture.

Huang Chengshu, lay disciple of Shaxi (an ancient county near present-day Wuhan), respectfully prefaces.

Imperial decree promoting Patriarch Lü to the Xuanyuan rank

The Lord of the Myriad Heavenly Stars, Great Emperor of the Northern Pole and Purple Subtlety (supreme deity of the Purple Subtlety region of the Northern Dipper), by decree of Yuanshi Tianzun (one of the highest Daoist deities):

Looking upon you, Chunyang Daoshi, Realized Man Lü Yan (Lü Dongbin): you passed three thousand bitter practices and achieved deep, subtle merit; you widely spread the benevolence that saves from calamity and ferried beings on the cihai (sea of compassion); you opened wide the teaching that awakens the world and repeatedly sent down the baofa (precious raft) to guide; in the southeast you proclaimed the teaching and used daofa to clarify the mysteries of xiantian (the primordial, the cosmic origin); in the Yi and Zhen quarters (two of the twenty-eight lunar mansions, corresponding to the Jing-Chu region) you expounded the scriptures and with lingzhang (spirit talismans) revealed the essence of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate).

Now that the work on the classics is complete, a further gracious promotion is issued: you are specially advanced to Yuqing Zhenzai, Dao reaching wuwei (non-action), utmost mystery and utmost sagehood, commanding the myriad spirits and holding the scales; manifesting in the virtue of Fuyou to teach, patriarch of the three teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism), titled Xuanyuan Guangfa Tianzun, Yuantong Wenni Zhenfo.

Having received this divine mandate, you should redouble your efforts in mysterious achievement (the work of cultivation and spreading the Way), and receive a further appointment with commendation: the Thunder Marshal Liu Qi, who guards and upholds the Daoist law, is promoted to Left Assistant in Primordial Transformation, Supreme Venerable of the Utmost, Right Minister of the Jade Pivot (the Jade Pivot is a celestial office under the Thunder Department), and Perfect Sovereign of Grand Teaching, to assist in mysterious achievement and carry out tasks of teaching and transformation.

The mandate of grace is further declared: the supreme dharma-protector Ge Mingyang is promoted to Nine Heavens Propagation of Teachings, put in overall charge of the Five Thunders (the deities of thunder rites), to examine merit and fault in the immortal registers and decide promotions and demotions, and to command the dragon kings who send rain across rivers and lakes; he is granted the titles Divine Lord Who Assists Transformation and Propagates the Way, and Celestial Venerable of Mysterious Penetration in Myriad Methods.

These two divine ministers jointly assist primordial transformation (the nurturing and transforming work of heaven and earth). Alas! The Perfect Real Person of Sincere Blessing (the honorific title of Lü Dongbin) has boundless merit and virtue, and his teaching reaches far in all directions; he should further uphold the lineage style of the moral teaching, and it is hoped that he may attain the highest rank of the Mysterious Origin. By imperial command!

Preface to the Scripture of the Three Grades of the Qingwei Tradition (a classic of the Qingwei lineage). Compiled by Liu Tishu, “Son Without Self of Yiling”; refined by his son Liu Yincheng; collated jointly by his nephew Liu Yuncheng and Qingxu; with revisions by Huang Chengshu, “Son of Yixing of Shaxian.”

I have heard that the Great Dao need not be conveyed through words at all, and the most sublime speech need not rely on ornate phrasing. Once speech is deliberately polished for literary effect, it is merely composition—not the highest teaching under heaven. Once the Dao is put into words, it is merely speech—not the highest Dao under heaven. The Dao originally had no need of speech; speech originally had no need of ornament. What has ornamenting speech with writing to do with the Dao? What is speech for? What use is literary form?

Yet speech without literary form cannot long endure; the Dao, apart from speech, cannot be handed down to later ages. Transmitting the Dao must rely on speech; for speech to endure one must take up writing—so writing cannot be abandoned, nor can speech.

Only when speech chases literary flourish does writing grow tangled and excessive, and such writing loses its truth; when speech is used to expound the Dao, if speech is hollow and insubstantial, then there is no substance in what is said. Using substanceless words to speak of the Dao, the Dao is instead veiled by speech; using untrue writing to adorn speech, words are instead obscured by form.

Thus speech may still be set down as writing, and the Dao may still be expressed in speech. What is rejected in speech is words that betray the right Way; what is rejected in writing is work that strays from the classics. When writing strays from the classics, the highest teaching grows dim; when speech betrays the Dao, the highest Dao is hidden.

Today the Great Dao cannot be made manifest in the world, and doctrines multiply. Many who cling to schools and borrow reputations use wild, groundless talk and write in contorted, difficult prose to gloss over their base, ugly, unexamined heterodox paths, so that the sages’ teaching cannot be practiced and the Great Dao is blocked. I grieve deeply over this.

To refute heterodox teachings, magnify the sages’ words, resist crooked conduct, and uphold the orthodox Way, one must rely on those who truly know the Great Dao. Only those who probe the Dao’s subtlety to the full and grasp its supreme principles can use their own speech to set right the errors of biased doctrine and their own Way to correct the mistakes of side paths and heterodox lineages.

Who am I to presume to bear such a burden? Yet abuses have sunk deep, and the times decline like a river running down—having been fortunate to hear one ten-thousandth of this Way, how could I refuse to clarify the Great Dao in careful language, while heterodox currents swell day by day and the Dao fails to shine forth? Though I am plain and uncultivated, short on literary grace, and hardly fit to display the ultimate Dao’s radiance, if I can spread the Celestial Emperor’s favor, examine and adjust the pivot of transformation in the ten thousand things (hua ji), and turn back the momentum of tribulation (jie yun), that may not be wholly without some small help.

In the renchen year I happened to pass Xia Rui (the ancient region where the Han River meets the Yangtze), came down at Hansan Altar (a spirit-writing altar), and with my household’s teaching joined the aims of the three teachings—Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist—to unfold and expound this scripture for the instruction of later learners.

I have investigated the origin of the Great Dao. In the pre-heaven state, before heaven and earth had taken shape, the first stirrings had just begun and Taiji (the undifferentiated ground of being) had just split apart: what moved became Yang, what was still became Yin. That Yin and Yang together are what we call the Great Dao; once Yin and Yang each took root, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) arose. Human beings and the ten thousand things all came to be within formless creation and transformation. The principle of Taiji interwove and fused with the vital essence of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases, and only then did endless change become so wondrous. Confucian teaching speaks of this Dao, Daoist teaching speaks of this Dao, and Buddhist teaching speaks of this Dao as well—how could they be torn apart? When this is understood, what people call “two” and “one” have no rank or grade, and no line that could divide them.

Those who live in the world support heaven and earth in nurturing the ten thousand things, secure life and destiny for sentient beings, uphold the bonds of human order, and set the human heart in place for the work of creation; those who withdraw from the world sustain them in that role. Those who withdraw from the world disclose the nurturing power of the pre-heaven realm, preside at kalpa assemblies (gatherings in the cycles of cosmic time to deliver beings), rescue the lost, and assist the most complete governance; those in the world rely on them for balance and coordination. So one must not fix on a single side, must not ridicule one another, and must not choose one and reject another. Why split into schools, fly one’s own banner, and set those who belong together against each other?

The ancient sages handed down secret classics—deep in meaning, single in intent, subtle in wording—far beyond what I can match. Each spoke only from within their own Dao and had not yet joined to speak as one. That is why I have brought together the core aims of the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism—and written these words. This is not merely “talk about the Dao,” nor is it only literary composition; it is simply to show that the Three Teachings are one household at root.

You seekers of the Way among scholars—if you can earnestly investigate and directly glimpse the wondrous Dao that has no beginning—you should go beyond what I have already said and probe further into what I have not yet said; from truths that can be put into words, awaken to truths that words cannot exhaust. Do not treat my words merely as literary composition, and do not hunt for my Dao only inside language and script. Then the most abstruse and wondrous Great Dao will shine forth from this; biased conduct, excessive speech, heterodox teachings, and crooked paths need not be specially refuted—they will cease of themselves. To clear the thorns from within the lineage and sweep the wilderness from the Great Way—is that not a great merit? This is the original intent of my writing and the root aim of my teaching; receive it with reverence.

Praise Verses from the Qingwei Sanpin Jing

Eulogy by Lord Zitong (Emperor Wenchang, the revered deity in Daoism who presides over literary fortune and office): The Dao and its methods are abstruse and subtly profound; the Qingwei lineage honors De. Myriad words of wondrous doctrine point to wholesome causes. Purple qi penetrates the great cosmic forge (Hongjun); harmonious qi spreads and blends, and the subtle principle shines through from the Yellow Court (the inner center of human refinement, also the locus of inner visualization in practice).

Opening Scripture Verse left by the Celestial Lord of the Clear Vacant Bright Heaven (a Daoist celestial deity, recited before scripture to open and purify the mind): The human body has three treasures—Shen, Jing, and Qi; inner alchemy (Neidan) takes these as the basic sustenance of cultivation. They give birth to Heaven, Earth, and humanity; from Wuji they unfold into Taiji. Postnatal form and qi root in the primordial origin; from the One arise refined distinctions. The Five Virtues match the Five Phases; the Five Constants weigh and balance five positions. The shared accomplishment of the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and humanity)—the three teachings ultimately return to one. Cut off obstacles and remove the thieves that harm from the root; when desire is extinguished, the mysterious union becomes clear. The Dao of Heaven and Earth is abstruse—mysterious upon mysterious, yet holding essential meaning. The realms of Jade Clarity and Upper Clarity, and the secret pivot of Grand Clarity, are revealed to instruct celestial and human beings. Practice has its stages and ranks. How ultimate are these words of the wondrous Dao—they can silently dissolve hostile qi throughout the cosmos and teach all beings, broadly increasing benefit.

At that time, the Celestial Worthy of Profound Origin and Universal Dharma, in the Qingwei Palace of the Jade Pure Realm (the pure and supreme heaven of Daoist cosmology), came together with the great celestial worthies, the limitless spirit kings, and the flying great sages before the seat of Yuanshi Tianzun (the highest deity representing the beginning of cosmic creation). They reckoned the convergence of the various kalpas and examined the mysterious registers. The Worthy took pity on the beings below, who had accumulated so much wrongdoing and whose tribulations ran so deep; sighing, he composed himself, stepped from the ranks, bowed low, and reported to Yuanshi Tianzun:

“The people below are ruled by alien habits and fixed opinions; each sets up a separate lineage and household, slandering and attacking one another, so that ignorant common folk follow suit without restraint, and one hardship after another never ceases. Your servant wishes to use plain words, repeated and unfolded, so that followers of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism alike may see that the paths differ yet the goal is one—hoping that beings will no longer raise obstacles and may preserve, even slightly, the true teaching. Moreover, those who cultivate the Dao often cling mistakenly to stale formulas, apply themselves in absurd directions, confuse the spirit platform (the mind and heart), and in the end lose the root. Your servant now gathers, according to his understanding, lessons from the past and has compiled the subtle meaning of the ‘Three Grades,’ as a lamp in a dark room, so that ascending to immortality or attaining Buddhahood need not be difficult and a single hearing of the words may bring awakening. I do not know whether this may be promulgated at this time; I beg the sacred compassion to issue a clear jade decree.”

Yuanshi Tianzun said: “Good! Good! It is as you say. You now give rise to this vow and broadly preach for sentient beings—this is truly supreme merit without equal. I shall expound for you; listen carefully.”

These sentient beings each cling to fixed views; only by explaining again and again and guiding them with patient, gentle persuasion can you make sure that every sentient being understands the yīnyuán (the reasons and conditions for why things are as they are). I permit you in the world below: if anyone sets forth sincere intent, gives their utmost strength, and helps this work succeed—delivering thirty kinds of sentient beings—they may together attain the supreme wondrous fruit (the highest fruit of complete fulfillment), take their place among the ranks of heaven, and dwell in Dàluó Heaven (the highest celestial realm in Daoism) together with all jīnxiān (immortals of the highest grade in Daoism). All who can lend their effort shall each receive blessing, so that at first they are unstained and in the end unburdened, each obtaining what they wish. You must strive.

Thereupon the Celestial Worthy (Tiānzūn, honorific for the supreme deity in Daoism) in the year Jiǎshēn opened an altar and established a fixed period of discipline (setting up the ritual platform and holding a term of cultivation), and with the disciples expounded the Spiritual Chapters.

The Celestial Worthy said: In the human body, what matters above all are jīng (essence), qì (vital energy), and shén (spirit)—these three are called the Three Treasures. The wúwéi (non-action, acting in accord with nature without forcing) of the utmost sage all comes from here. Though these Three Treasures belong to hòutiān (the state after one has taken on bodily form and mortal life), people rarely know them; their subtlety is beyond reckoning. Even xiāntiān (the original condition before forms arise) cannot be without these Three Treasures; without them, wúwéi cannot be achieved, and xiāntiān is obscured.

What is called xiāntiān is not only wúwéi, but that there is nothing to be done; going further to the wúwéi of “non-being,” then to the wúwéi of “non-non-being,” one thus becomes “non-non-non.” Such layered non-being is what xiāntiān is.

Yet this xiāntiān—there is nothing that does not have it. Once there is xiāntiān, hòutiān follows. The xiāntiān of the myriad things is one xiāntiān; this one xiāntiān becomes each thing’s own xiāntiān, and from each again divides forth, thereby producing hòutiān. Once hòutiān is established, the Three Treasures are obtained; only then are the Three Treasures complete in the human body. Keep these Three Treasures in mind.

The first item concerns Jing (essence). Jing, in heaven, is the Milky Way (Han)—the radiance of sun, moon, and stars—and also rain, dew, hail, fine ice pellets (sleet), snow, frost, and night dew (xie). On earth it is water: rivers, seas, waters held deep underground, as well as springs, the Kan trigram (water), wells, standing pools, the veins of mountains and marshes, and the marrow within stone. In the human person, Jing is the root of life and destiny; it becomes blood and flesh, and shows in the mouth, teeth, and gums.

The second item concerns Qi (vital energy). Qi, in heaven, is form and embodied appearance, dividing Yin and Yang; it appears in the waxing and waning of sun, moon, and stars, turns into five-colored clouds, rosy light, mist, and the pervasive haze of yunqi (breathing vapor), and is the living force that generates and nourishes the ten thousand things. On earth, Qi is De (virtue/power), the resource of receiving and supplying, the backbone of the myriad beings and the source of mountains and waters; it governs killing and giving life, storing and releasing, and shows in the rise and fall of worldly fortune and great cycles of time (jie), and in seeds sprouting and breaking their shells (jia). In the human person, Qi moves the limbs and completes every act of lifting and doing; it appears as sound, sight, smell, and hearing, is the power by which the body can heed and act, and is the pass where life and death turn.

Daoism treats Jing and Qi as what links heaven, earth, and humanity: Jing leans toward the tangible substrate of life, Qi toward the force of movement and change.

The first item concerns Shen (spirit). Here, Shen—in heaven—is the pivot of cosmic motion and the true sovereign, driving the ten thousand things without sound; it is the luminous spirit of sun, moon, and stars, the wind that stirs all things, lightning and thunder—at once merciful and awesome, the working of creation and transformation and the root of life. On earth, Shen is the power to nurture and transform: gathering and releasing, completing the forms of the myriad beings, becoming mountains and rivers, appearing as tranquil stillness—the principle that steadies the ten thousand things and the ground of settled dwelling, depth, and humane virtue. In a person, Shen is one’s spiritual intelligence: the light in the eyes, the deliberation in the heart, wisdom and insight, innate knowledge and innate capacity, the basis on which “cinnabar” and “mercury” (metaphorical elixir ingredients) can form an embryonic elixir in Neidan (internal alchemy), the master of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), awakening and enlightenment, the root of the bodily form, and also the foundation of long or short life.

The three treasures—Jing, Qi, and Shen—are not easily gained. Since they are hard to obtain, how can one fail to cherish and guard them? The art of guarding them lies in purity and stillness: do not disturb Jing or let it leak; let it abide in its proper dwelling (in Neidan, often the Dantian where essence and Qi gather), truly and without shifting. Over one day and night it completes three hundred sixty-one circuits and returns to its home, silent and unmoving—then it becomes the “lead” provisions for elixir refinement (lead, a metaphor for the medicinal foundation of the inner elixir).

What we call Jing is entirely under the command of Qi. When Qi habitually rushes outward, Jing leaks with it. Thus to secure Jing, the crux is to hold Qi. How does one hold Qi? One must be free of covetousness, pure and still without stirring—only then does it serve as the cinnabar-and-lead provisions for the elixir.

What is called jing (essence) is always gathered and held by qi (vital energy). When qi disperses outward, jing leaks away with it. Therefore, to hold fast to jing, the crux lies in guarding qi. How can qi be guarded? One must be free of craving, with a mind that is clear, empty, and still, without deliberate contrivance. This qi resides only in the mysterious pass (xuanguan)—the subtle gate spoken of in neidan (internal alchemy)—within the space of a single inch; there it is nourished gradually until it is calm and at ease, constantly self-sufficient. This qi is vast and undifferentiated, murky and blended, filling every corner without gap—just like this. Then qi descends to unite with jing without separation; the two intermingle like milk in water and become one, and the ingredients of the great elixir (dadān) are gradually complete. At this point one need only apply the firing process (huohou), place them in the elixir cauldron (danding, the place where the “pill” is formed), and accomplishment will appear. What is the firing process? It is shen (spirit) that presides. For without qi, jing cannot be gathered; without shen, jing and qi cannot be transformed. To consolidate jing and nourish qi, the work lies entirely in preserving shen (cunshen). Preserving shen depends on cutting off discursive thought: nothing going out from within, nothing entering from without—all signs and portents are set aside; indifferent, quiet, harmonious, and fused, utterly silent. Persist in this guarding, and shen settles in the palace of spirit (shengong). The palace of spirit is none other than the elixir chamber (danfu, the place where spirit is anchored). Once the elixir chamber is firm, shen is still and single-minded; it directs the transformation of jing and qi, and thereby condenses the great elixir: in form like an infant, yet also showing one’s own bodily image—hair, skin, features, and limbs all complete as if real. Then one may leave through this gate, roam the three realms (the realm of desire, the realm of form, and the realm of formlessness), and in a single breath traverse the ten directions without obstruction—free and at ease, beyond the reach of deliberate thought.

Yet if one merely clings to this state without hearing the great Dao or meeting a perfected person (zhenren, a true master who has attained the Way), the three calamities (sanzai) will corrode one’s attainment. If one fails to awaken, what has been achieved is wholly lost. What are the three calamities?

One is called “gang wind” (violent wind that can shatter the physical body). Such gang wind is sharp as a blade edge and pointed as an awl; it pierces through and enters the gates and orifices, and in the space of a single watch (an extremely brief interval) it runs through every joint and reaches Yongquan (the springing fountain point at the sole of the foot). Limbs and hair suddenly scatter and dissolve into filaments of down, drifting with nothing to cling to. Yet this gang wind cannot corrode or harm.

Next there is “poison fire,” rising from below, penetrating the crown gate (the top of the head), then turning to burn the viscera and scorching the four limbs on the side; pores and hairline turn to ash in a single breath. Yet neither this wind nor this fire can inflict injury. With such power, one may say one has reached the utmost.

If one has not yet heard the Dao, there are the “Five Thunders,” each leading its retinue and besieging from all four sides. Before one has heard the Dao, spirit disperses in an instant in four directions and never gathers again.

Therefore the Great Dao cannot go uninvestigated; without investigating the Great Dao, it is hard to escape the “three disasters” (namely gang wind, poison fire, and the Five Thunders). All the “Three Treasures” (Jing, Qi, and Shen) become nothing. Only the person who has attained understanding, because they grasp these words, takes up gourd and bamboo hat, crosses mountains and rivers, and seeks out “high perfected ones” (cultivators of deep attainment) to expound the Great Dao, and thereby forever leaves the three disasters behind.

Yet this Great Dao is also extremely hard to put into words. Precisely because it is hard to speak of, one must look straight into “beginninglessness” (the source that has no beginning): the beginning of beginninglessness, then to the beginninglessness of “nothing,” then to the beginninglessness where even “nothing” is no more—this is “Xiantian” (the primordial state before heaven and earth were divided). The way of Xiantian cannot be fathomed or debated; when there is nothing to fathom or debate, what remains to be said? It inherently cannot be spoken, yet cannot but be spoken; these words that are spoken—where do they begin? What can broadly be called the Dao lies only at the level of “youwei” (efficacious, deliberate action). What is youwei? It is taking “nothing” as what is attained. And this “wuwei” (non-action) in turn begins from “being.” As for youwei, how should one apply effort? To clarify where effort is applied, one should ask the “heart-sovereign” (the heart that rules the whole person). The heart-sovereign inherently possesses vast understanding. Observe the movement and stillness of Yin and Yang and their transformations.

Contemplate the utmost great origin—how should one apply effort? To investigate the method of effort, one should inquire of the heart-sovereign, the spirit that governs the whole person. The heart-sovereign inherently possesses vast understanding.

Observe the transformations of yin-yang and stillness-movement: contemplate the sun, emulating its vigorous course; contemplate the moon, penetrating the waxing and waning of its phases. Further exhaust the four seasons, taking their cycles as model, and silently apprehend Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the root of all things.

Pursue this single root: thus broadly survey all creation, then sit in silent meditation with a stilled heart, until only pre-heaven Qi remains alone; in still sitting, nothing else remains but this. Then the mind holds not a single thing. What was cultivated before condenses into the great elixir, the inner refinement’s essence; the “infant” that forms—the yang spirit—becomes one with me, and I communes with Heaven and Earth.

Yet one must widely seek instruction from lofty perfected ones, immortals who have attained the Way. Without meeting a true person to point out the subtle, one cannot understand the Great Dao; even if one understands something, it stays only at the surface. The inner mystery can never be grasped. Without that mystery, how can one know the Great Dao? Therefore to know the Great Dao, one must obtain authentic transmission.

This authentic transmission each has its lineage of masters. Once secretly pointed out, one suddenly sees clearly. Having seen clearly, how then does one securely comprehend the Great Dao? Still through this transmission: the lineage’s single touch pierces through, and one penetrates the deepest mystery; having penetrated it, one then knows the Great Dao. With knowing comes attainment; obtaining this utmost mystery, one can practice Wuwei (non-action).

Though effort reaches this point, one must still accumulate practice—whether three thousand acts, fifteen hundred, one thousand, or five hundred. When such practice is complete, each attains the corresponding right fruition, the fruit matching one’s cultivation.

After accumulated practice, one must also establish merit—whether one thousand deeds, eight hundred, five hundred, three hundred, one hundred fifty, or one hundred. When merit and practice are thus full and complete, each again attains the right fruition.

Those whose merit and practice are great attain great reward: they may become golden immortals and take their place among the hosts of heaven; or serve in the human realm as lords of myriad methods; or dwell in the Three Isles, the immortal blessed lands, enjoying the blessings of purity and stillness.

Those whose merit and practice rank next may also dwell in Great Canopy Heaven (Daluo), becoming immortals of Wuwei who transcend the “flavor” of worldly sound—free and joyful; or dwell on famous mountains, or wander the turbid realm of the mundane world, serving as patriarchs of the Daoist lineage.

Those whose merit and practice are still shallow will dwell long in springs and rocks—that is, in quiet mountain forests—without falling into birth and death, forever escaping the three calamities (disasters such as water, fire, and wind). From this we know that hearing the Dao comes sooner for some and later for others, yet there is no distinction of easy and hard. What fruit one ultimately attains depends solely on merit and practice. Those with deeper accumulation and greater blessings may settle on famous mountains or move through the turbid realm (the dusty world of society), becoming masters revered in the Daoist tradition; those with shallow merit and practice remain long among springs and stone, neither born nor destroyed, forever free of the three calamities.

Since the fruit attained is determined by merit and practice, and each person’s accumulation differs, what each attains differs as well. But to attain fruit, one must first hear the Great Dao; to hear the Great Dao, one must revere the Three Treasures (Dao, scripture, and teacher). Without these Three Treasures, one cannot gain long life. Years are limited—if one’s effort does not penetrate deeply, even if one encounters the Great Dao only in old age, the Great Dao is as good as never truly heard; then what use is whatever accumulation one already has? Such accumulation is not great merit. When vast achievement is not yet established and great virtue is not yet complete, to rush after the realm of the highest sages is, even if one obtains the Great Dao, like obtaining nothing at all.

Consider how the perfected ones enter the Dao: they are urgent and restless, fearing they will not be in time; they seek high perfected ones (immortals of lofty rank) everywhere and ask them to expound the profound. They enter danger without shrinking; enter hardship without alarm; enter fire and water without terror; enter demonic obstacles (evil hindrances in practice) without confusion; enter every trial and hardship without regret. With such devotion they move the high perfected ones on high, receive the essentials, and fully awaken without attachment or error. They return, sit cross-legged, silently cultivate the mysterious work (subtle inner refinement), look up to Heaven and down to Earth, and unite with the Dao that is mystery upon mystery—yet still they do not stop. Even when mixed among every kind of grinding hardship, they feel no regret; precisely because of such devotion they receive instruction from the high perfected ones, awaken completely without mistake, sit cross-legged and circulate the work, look up and look down, penetrate the doubly mysterious—and in the end they do not cease.

Moving through the dust of the world—in the markets and streets where carts and horses gather and people come and go—one may practice in the midst of ordinary life and accumulate merit in many ways, yet still feel that such effort may not run deep. So one vows again on a vast scale: to perform measureless deeds and establish measureless merit, wishing to pass through endless kalpas so that all sentient and insentient beings may hear the Great Dao and reach the other shore—the realm of liberation. Such merit, even across hundreds and thousands of kalpas, might never be fully exhausted; if it were truly complete, one could realize the supreme Way, arrive at wuwei (non-action), and even at the utmost of “non–non-action.” That wuwei abides with Heaven and Earth yet does not perish when Heaven and Earth do. For Heaven and Earth belong to the realm of deliberate action: whatever acts must in time end. Heaven acts, and so heaven ages; earth acts, and so earth wastes away. The perfect person (zhiren)—one who has reached the summit of cultivation—is wuwei; having no deliberate action, how could there be waste or aging? Before Heaven and Earth existed, this person already was; once Heaven and Earth arose, this person appeared; when Heaven and Earth grow old and barren, this person remains at ease. Subtle—how subtle! Such a person I can hardly name. Yet pursued to the end, every person is originally thus. Why? Because there is xiantian—the nature one receives from the beginning. Everyone has this xiantian, yet most people, though they possess it, remain dim and unaware. Why again? Because where there is xiantian, there cannot fail to be houtian—the aspect that arises after birth along with form and vital breath. Once houtian is present, the six roots (the faculties of the six senses) appear; once the six roots are present, the six consciousnesses arise—the various kinds of knowing that depend on the senses. What are the six roots?

One is the eye root: the eyes take in shapes and colors of the outer world, giving rise to all sorts of thoughts, and thereby obscuring xiantian.

One is the ear root: the ears hear all sorts of sounds, giving rise to all sorts of thoughts, and thereby obscuring xiantian.

One is the mouth root: the mouth speaks right and wrong in all sorts of ways, giving rise to all sorts of thoughts, and thereby obscuring xiantian.

One is the nose root: the nose smells all sorts of odors, giving rise to all sorts of thoughts, and thereby obscuring xiantian.

One is the tongue root: the tongue tastes sweet and bitter in all sorts of ways, giving rise to all sorts of thoughts, and thereby obscuring xiantian.

This root of the body—the root of bodily awareness—passes through all kinds of states and gives rise to all kinds of thoughts, thereby obscuring the innate (one’s originally complete inherent nature). Therefore the six roots of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind are called the six thieves. To seek to hear the Great Dao, one must first remove the disturbance of the six roots; if the six roots are not removed, all sorts of unwholesome consciousness will arise. Where are the six roots to be removed? In the past, those who had attained understanding knew the method of removal: toward everything seen and heard, and toward the conditions of states, one does not cling and does not linger. Seeing does not rely on the eyes, hearing does not rely on the ears; one closes the mouth and gathers the tongue, and all day is like a simpleton; breath sinks deep to the heels, and the body is placed where it need not be used. Every movement is directed by the Shen (spirit). In this way, although the six roots are fully present, they are as if they were not. When the six roots are as if absent, whence could evil consciousness come? Without evil consciousness, how could evil destinies arise? Without the entanglement of consciousness and what it pursues, there is no obstruction; without obstruction, the heart sovereign (the master of this body of mind) is secure and still. When the heart sovereign is truly unstained and unattached, one may then set up the furnace and cauldron (the place within internal alchemy where body and mind are refined), cast in the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen), and coalesce the Great Elixir. That it can coalesce is because one draws the water within Kan (the true water symbolized by the Kan trigram), borrows the wind of Xun (the wind symbolized by the Xun trigram that stirs the true breath), turns the fire of the Li palace (the heart fire symbolized by the Li trigram), joins the Three Treasures, and unifies the three into one—then the Great Elixir is refined. Once the Great Elixir is formed, Dragon and Tiger (the paired yin-yang elements in internal alchemy) are subdued and yin and yang each take their place; yet one must still seek instruction from lofty perfected ones (accomplished sages of the Way) in the subtle secret teachings before one can verify the fruit one has attained.

Those of inferior aptitude who study the Way, not understanding the reasons behind it, act recklessly on mere speculation, dabbling in various heterodox techniques such as wrongful “gathering and refining” practices, and thus stray further from the true path. Once one goes wrong in this way, all kinds of demonic obstacles (obstacles and disturbances in cultivation) follow in succession: above, one provokes Heaven; below, one violates the law. As for those who withdraw from the world (yinlun, recluses who dwell apart from society), dwelling in heart and mind among springs and rocks, once they grasp this principle they then refine qi and calm the spirit, gathering the Three Treasures of jing, qi, and shen, hoping to achieve the Great Elixir (neidan accomplishment); yet if they do not receive genuine instruction in the method, in the end they still suffer the three calamities (disasters brought on by mistaken practice). From this one can see how extremely difficult the Great Dao is to put into words. People like this can hardly escape misfortune—how much more so ordinary living beings! They do not understand the Great Dao, do not know how to cherish the Three Treasures; the six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) grow ever more inflamed, the seven emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, and desire) fully manifest, and they treat the Three Treasures as if they were not their own. The human body depends on nothing but jing, qi, and shen:

If one does not cherish jing and lets it drain away, it is like pouring a ladle of water into a leaky vessel—it cannot be stored; it leaks away bit by bit until in no time not a drop remains.

If one does not cherish qi and lets it dissipate, it is like placing a stick of incense in a blazing stove and letting it burn; add more charcoal, and in no time it becomes ash.

If one does not cherish shen and lets it be consumed and ruined, it is like setting a lone lamp in the wind and letting it sway without shelter—in no time it gradually goes out.

Dangerous! Dangerous! To lose these Three Treasures is to lose life itself, to fall into various evil kalpas, turning in cycles without end.

Only the perfected person—one who has reached the utmost in cultivation—understands this root cause. Such a one sets forth a great vow, rouses fierce resolve, and wields the sword of wisdom (the wisdom that severs afflictions) to cut down its root sprouts and destroy its vile kind, not allowing the seven emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, and desire) to cling and arise. The seven emotions are a great barrier; lustful attachment is the key to that barrier. Sever the key, seize the pass, leap over the threshold, let go with an open hand and walk forward unencumbered, and nothing will block you. Thus one can penetrate the supreme Dao and thereby ascend among the highly perfected.

I pity sentient beings: for this single thought of attachment, all manner of demons and obstructions arise, leading to delusion and inversion. From leaving the mother’s womb until death, few ever awaken to regret. Even when an adept pulls them by the ears and teaches them face to face, it is like beating a drum for the deaf or holding up a lamp for the blind—they ultimately do not perceive. Alas, alas! They grow only more wildly absurd, imagining they can hear the Dao to beg for long life, learning the arts of immortality or Buddhism, yet like a blind historian who stumbles into a cave and falls headlong, like a butcher who sharpens his blade to serve the spirits, or like a thief who pries open a chest to steal and then performs offerings to avert disaster and seek fortune. In this way they not only gain nothing but invite guilt and misfortune. If one wishes to hear the subtle mystery of the supreme Dao, without renouncing what one loves and severing the seven emotions, it remains mere fantasy. I explain this chain of cause and condition for you; you should listen carefully.

By what means are the seven emotions removed? The method is to contemplate no-self. What is no-self? I was never a true self to begin with; this “I” too is not a real self—what then is there to crave and cherish? Since this is so through causes and conditions, you should listen carefully.

These seven emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, aversion, and desire—what can remove them? The path to removal is to reflect on and awaken to “no-self.” What is no-self? From the outset there has never been a solid, real “I”; the self before your eyes is not the true self either. Given that, what is there worth clinging to with love and craving? It is only because one fixes on there being an “I” that one grasps everything as “mine”—there is nowhere one does not see as “me.” Without this “I,” love and craving have no ground from which to arise. The state is not truly mine, yet out of love one gives life for it; the family is not truly mine, yet out of love one gives life for it too. All outer things with sound, flavor, form, and color—none of them is truly one’s own—yet people throw away their bodies for them, like flies chasing stench, ants clustering on tallow, bees buzzing at a window: at the first glimpse of bright light they dash and crash without end, until greed knows no limit and gluttony never stops. They bustle like a wheel on an axle; when desire flares, they snatch and wrest from one another, like wild ducks fighting over wild rice—never knowing enough, never knowing when to stop.

Try to think: before this “I” existed, was it ever like this? When you reach this thought, you ought to wake up clearly. Moreover, time slips by like a white colt flashing past a crack in the wall; life is like morning dew—in the blink of an eye this “I” turns to nothing. I ultimately return to no-self—what then is love and craving for? If you press your hand to your own chest, you can only give a silent, wry smile. Investigate along this principle—how can love and craving not be removed? Once love is removed, nothing remains that cannot be removed: desire, aversion, joy, sorrow, fear, anger, together with selfish mind and emotional fixation, all vanish at once with that love.

Only, people cling to love as if glued and lacquered—it is hard to break free. Once drowned in love, it is like falling into boundless deep water: you sink and struggle wanting to swim out, yet shore is nowhere in sight. I (Lü the Patriarch, speaking as teacher) feel deep compassion, and therefore deploy the precious raft (the teaching that ferries people out of suffering)—intending to carry across those who are drowning. Alas, sentient beings have been submerged so long that they have no ladder by which to board this vessel. Sentient beings—how terribly difficult they are!

On your behalf I reflect: you wish to swim about seeking a way out, yet before your eyes stretches only boundless mist with no shore in sight. I feel deep compassion, and so I launch the treasure raft (the vessel of deliverance, a metaphor for the teaching that ferries beings across) to save those who are drowning. Alas, sentient beings have been submerged for so long that they find no ladder by which to climb aboard my boat; to rescue them all is truly arduous beyond measure.

Again I think for you: I have a method. What is this method? You must first learn to endure. How does one endure? You should examine yourself inwardly until you suddenly awaken with a start. I have heard of one who once possessed every luxury—wealth in full measure, children filling the hall, friends crowding the seats, every delight and pastime at hand, brocades and fine silks spread on the banquet table, lofty halls and vast chambers with painted rafters and carved pillars pleasing to the eye. The moment he resolved to relinquish these cherished things and commit his heart to this Way, obstacles to cultivation arose at once: tender voices weeping, gentle pleading in every tone, slander and reproach, even tears and embraces that tugged at him so he could not break free.

That adept of the Way hardened his heart and would not look back. He treated those attachments like a fallen pot (duo zeng—something dropped that is not worth picking up again) or worn-out shoes (bi xi) cast aside without a second thought. He hid himself in deep valleys and secluded places, desiring nothing, until his spirit grew still and darkly silent—neither looking nor listening—striving to leave not one seed of lust or emotion in his heart, his inner ground vast and bright. Even so, he still had to move among the clamor of the dusty world, passing through every kind of circumstance, observing every sort of phenomenon, mingling with kin and the outer world in coming and going, until he was truly free of clinging and attachment. Only then did he seek the secret of the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan, the pivotal aperture in Daoist practice) and cultivate the Three Treasures (Jing [essence], Qi [vital energy], and Shen [spirit]).

Cultivation certainly requires shedding desire and emotional entanglement, and above all it requires governing the mind. How is the mind to be governed? I offer you the milk of the Dharma—teaching that nourishes as milk nourishes an infant—and you should take it in and let it ripen within you.

The mind is clear by nature and still by nature; openness and ease belong to its very substance. To govern the mind is to accord with that substance: as clear as rippling shallows (yǎn), deep and limpid without a trace of murk; as still as a hollow valley and its returning echo (hóngyá), settled and without noise; as vast as heaven and earth, with no measure of their reach; as unhurried as the open wilds, with no edge to their breadth. Such a mind holds nothing at all.

It may be like cold ash, or like water at rest—ash that can yet catch fire again, water that can still reflect what appears; or like a polished mirror, so that things pass through and leave no shape behind; or like bodhi, awakening itself, which is the root of the Dao. The mirror must be rubbed bright again and again; bodhi must be moistened again and again. The mirror makes everything shrink back in awe and withdraw; bodhi is the heart-seal, the credential of the Dao passed from mind to mind. When awe sends things away, they all depart; when the heart-seal is fixed, every path of the Dao springs from it.

Then one knows without knowing and sees without seeing; one does not employ ear or eye, and there is no intention, no thinking, no discriminating consciousness. In this way one is empty of all possession, until even “emptiness” is gone—then nothing can stir this mind. What cannot be stirred is called zuo wang, “sitting in forgetfulness”: in quiet sitting, forgetting self and the world outside. Only when one can enter that forgetfulness may the Dao be transmitted, the passes and orifices be opened, and the work proceed of “regulating the dragon and taming the tiger” and “laying the foundation and working the mercury”—in Neidan (internal alchemy), harmonizing the paired poles figured as dragon and tiger, establishing the foundation, and refining essence and qi. If forgetfulness is aimed only at outer things, one merely wrestles with things and cannot bring them to true stillness.

To seek the secret key to cultivating the Dao, if one does not obtain the right method, it not only brings no benefit but can actually cause harm. Therefore, to hear the Dao, one must first uproot the chief root of calamity. What is that chief root? It is the seven emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, desire). Above all, one must sweep clean the den of these thieves and recover the original face of purity, emptiness, and vast stillness, so that the six thieves (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind—the six kinds of perception that can plunder one's true nature) cannot steal even the slightest glance. What does this mean? It means governing the heart-mind; it means removing the seven emotions. Remove the seven emotions to rectify this one heart-mind, make the mind single and pure, and use it to nurture the great elixir (the refined essence formed in Neidan internal alchemy cultivation). If one goes and practices improper techniques, one not only obscures the Dao but also dims the nature (Xing). So-called nature is originally what Heaven bestows; governing the heart-mind is precisely for the sake of this nature. The heart-mind must be rectified—how then can nature be obscured?

Therefore the work of nourishing nature must not be delayed. How is nature nourished? This nature arises from the source without beginning (the origin without a starting point), is endowed from Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin before principle and vital energy are divided), and only after birth in the postnatal realm (after one is born) does it split apart. Postnatal nature has both principle and vital energy: in principle, true and false are divided—once one enters into falsity, one loses the true original; in vital energy, clear and turbid are divided—turbidity and dullness were already mixed in from the start. Once it is dull and once it is lost, it can no longer be called "nature," and is only called "postnatal." As for Taiji, principle and vital energy are fused in one body, without falsity and without turbidity—this is the heaven of nature (where the original nature dwells). Going further upward to the source without beginning, at that time one still cannot call it nature, and it is not yet life (Ming) either; since it is neither nature nor life, why is it still called "nature"? Because it flows out from the source without beginning. You must know that at the source without beginning it is neither nature nor life, but is supreme emptiness (the utmost void and emptiness); within it there is one seed-point. That seed-point planted becomes the root of the "ultimate," and then there is life, and further on there is nature. Nourishing nature means nourishing this one seed-point. Yet it is dim and indistinct, remote and dark, without sound or odor, without shadow or form—from where does one begin?

One must apply effort to nourish it. The path of nourishing begins by first nourishing the postnatal. Postnatal nature has principle and vital energy; clear and turbid, true and false cannot be unified all at once—how then can one nourish it? To nourish and rectify it, one must remove falsity and clarify turbidity. Removing falsity is already not easy; clarifying turbidity is even harder. I pity sentient beings and point out this Way—you must begin here. Where to begin? Only in purity and freedom from desire. Without desire, there is truth; with truth, there is no pretense; without pretense, there is clarity. Clarity brings illumination, truth brings genuine realization. How to illumine, how to realize? When clarity and truth reach their utmost, nothing is left unillumined; with this candle-like illumination, which path cannot be realized?

How then are falsity and turbidity to be removed? In the realm of Jambudvipa (the human world), falsity and turbidity are mixed together. What is pointed to is this: one must rise above and detach, not be entangled by worldly ties, sit quietly with eyes lowered toward the knees, seeing nothing and hearing nothing, so that the heart-mind becomes pure without a speck of dross—only then can falsity be removed and the turbidity one has received be clarified. Once received turbidity is clarified, this heart-mind is pure, and no longer will external guest dust (external defilement) come to stain and cling to it.

Since human beings have mind (xin), they also possess this nature (xing); and since they possess this nature, how can they be without feeling (qing)? Therefore, those who cultivate the mind must remove the five kinds of awareness (jue), so as to clear away the five obstructions, clarify the five natures, and penetrate the five mysteries (wuxuan—the profound depths of the Dao). What are the five awarenesses?

The first is awareness without cause (wuyin jue). A person sits quietly in the meditation enclosure (yuannei, the still place for seated practice), silence all around, no images yet appearing; the ears hear nothing, the eyes meet nothing; the mind is clear and silent, dim and undifferentiated, simply abiding—and suddenly a thought arises. That thought surges this way and that, legs and feet spring up like a deer in full gallop, flooding upward to the Moon Cavern (yueku, where yin gathers in internal alchemy) and reaching sideways to Heaven’s Root (tiangen, where yang first stirs). Try to grasp it and you cannot touch it; try to block it and you cannot hold it back. The harm it does to cultivation is no small matter. Hence the learner must first remove this awareness. How? By stripping away what is false and nurturing what is sincere.

The second is not-yet-arrived awareness (weiran jue). Before realms have been entered and before events have arrived, one should let go, so that the mind stays clear, bright, deep, and still as an abyss. Clarity and stillness are the root of the Dao. Why, without any reason, before a realm has appeared or an affair has come, should myriad thoughts tug at one another and countless ideas batter the inner mind? When one truly meets realms and responds to things, the situation is often nothing like what was imagined beforehand. Even when imagination happens to match reality, spirit is already spent and vital energy (qi) is already drained—a heavy loss. How much better not to raise this awareness at all, and to leave everything to what is natural (ziran). Therefore, if the learner does not remove this awareness, it is hard to hear the Dao. The way to remove it is to forget realms and set affairs aside, and to gather the mind until it is like the Great Void (taixu—the vast empty sky).

Sensory awareness refers to what the ears hear and the eyes see. Beauty and ugliness, together with endlessly shifting postures, all appear to me like dreams. Yet people fail to awaken and instead cling to them as real: they anticipate and resist in advance, scheme in every direction, and let the spirit churn in agitation and noise. They stir and cloud the root nature, as if at play and as if benighted, unable to attain clarity. How could one thus probe the Great Dao? One only ruins oneself in the process. Therefore those who study the Way should block the ears and set aside the eyes’ purpose—“Du cong chuo ming”: stop the ear’s acuity and release the eye’s fixed aim—so as not to be carried along by sound and form, and to keep the master (one’s own spirit-mind as sovereign) constantly clear and vigilant. As long as this kind of awareness remains, it is affliction; affliction and inversion mean there is no moment of release. The heart is uneasy, and the mind-ruler leaves its proper place. It must be removed so that the heart is bright and lucid, without clinging or dependency, inwardly and outwardly at peace. Let the ears serve as eyes and the eyes as ears—senses no longer bound to their usual roles. Even when sound and form reach their extreme, one neither sees nor hears.

Past awareness clings to constancy and good fortune, regret and difficulty (the auspicious and regrettable signs spoken of in the ancient Changes). Feeling ought to dissolve with circumstances; originally there is no fixed gain or loss, weakness or strength. The dim-witted do not know this and insist on entangling themselves further. The heart stagnates and finds no rest; shame and fear add to the unrest. Muddled and anxious, they raise deluded thoughts when nothing is happening, even to the point of madness. To embody the Way with such a mind is like crossing the eastern ocean in a cup-sized boat—no shore and no rescue—or like lowering oneself on a single rope into a thousand-fathom abyss: not only will one fail to attain the goal, one will leave lasting harm behind. Therefore those who study the Way must remove this awareness: do not cling, do not linger; remain vast and undifferentiated, letting nothing fail to transform, and never confuse true awareness with deluded awareness.

Self-centered awareness hinges on the word “self.” This awareness too must be removed: do not cling, do not linger; remain vast and undifferentiated, letting nothing fail to transform, and no longer confuse deluded awareness with true awareness.

Those who rely solely on personal selfish perception and cleverness, straying from the right path, do not realize that such private cleverness harms the Dao all the more severely: it keeps one buried again and again, stuck and unable to unfold—not only damaging the Dao but wounding life and nature (Xingming). Therefore those who study the Dao must eliminate this kind of awareness (jue). Until this awareness is removed, even if other kinds of awareness are cleared away, correct awakening (zhengjue) will still be obscured in the end. The Dao is originally like a broad highway; if one does not walk it by correct awakening, one falls into heterodox side paths and forked roads, with a thousand branches and a hundred schools mixed together. Even if someone strikes and shouts to wake one up, few can truly repent; even if someone points the way, one no longer follows. The other four kinds of awareness are all forgotten, and only this selfish awareness remains—until one finally loses the bodily shell (the physical body). How can one not be on guard!

I pity such people, and so I set forth this principle: be still and plain, wholly follow nature (ziran), do not deliberately fabricate, lest you lose what is original. What is original? It is the nature of this mind, and the awareness within that nature—this is called true awareness (zhenjue). Awakening from true awareness is called correct awakening (zhengjue); awakening from correct awakening is great awakening (dajue). This great awakening is the prior awakening (xianjue). It does not rely on numerology or craft, nor on reasoning alone; it does not guess, does not rigidly fix what must be, does not cling stubbornly, does not attach to self. Following the genuine truth, entrusting to nature, it penetrates upward through the Three Heavens (the high celestial realms in Daoist cosmology) and reaches downward through the nine abysses (the deepest depths), clarifying the beginningless and penetrating the endless. Subtle—how subtle; mysterious upon mysterious. Daoists call it sage wisdom; Confucians call it penetrating spirit; Buddhists call it silent illumination—all are true awareness, correct awareness, great awareness, prior awareness. If what is awakened to is not awareness of this kind, it is deluded awareness (wangjue); if deluded awareness is not removed, true awareness is obscured.

Yet beyond removing the five kinds of awareness, one must also remove the five obstacles (zhang). What are the five obstacles? The first is “demonic obstacle” (mozhang)—obstacles caused by evil demons: such demonic obstacles may arise from within the mind, or cling to circumstances, or be stirred by external things, or belong to one’s own person.

What arises from the heart-mind includes the split between self and other, reckoning over honor and disgrace, attachment to gain and loss, quarrels over right and wrong, contests of strength and weakness, greed for profit and fame, and stubborn competitiveness. Such thoughts cloud the numinous platform (where the spirit-mind stays clear), so that a person cannot find release.

What belongs to the body includes invasion by illness and pressure from hunger and cold; even in moments of success one is still disturbed, and suffering and pleasure alike bring turmoil. Once one feels at ease, laziness arises; in this way harm returns again and again, while others also entice, entangle, and bind one—every stir conflicts with the Dao.

On top of this, the circumstances one meets may be favorable or adverse: in favorable times the Way seems easy, in adverse times it seems hard; sinking into the mundane world is easy, yet stepping free of it is difficult.

Further, when outer things appear, beautiful objects fill the eyes, delighting the heart and enlivening the will, until the mind clings to them alone.

Obstacles of this kind (mo-zhang, hindrances to cultivation) everyone has. Those who study the Way who do not remove these hindrances may go their whole lives without ever truly hearing the Great Way. Even when each of these hindrances is cleared away one by one, there remains the “obstacle of doubt,” which must not be ignored.

What is the obstacle of doubt? The Great Way is inherently easy to understand and simple to practice. When an illuminating master who has penetrated the Great Way offers the slightest pointer, it is like a lamp in a dark room—bright and clear, and the heart becomes as transparent as a glass vessel. Yet alas, the root of the obstacle of doubt has already been planted: when one person speaks of the Way, the crowd breaks into noisy clamor; confusion arises at once, the right path is abandoned for crooked byways, and the false is used to disturb the true—as if one stood high in a tree yet plunged into a deep abyss.

How profound the sage’s words: “The valley spirit never dies; it is the gate of all marvels.” How vast the sage’s Way: “Empty and responsive, still and serene.” Why invent new doctrines and stir up arbitrary confusion? This is the obstacle of doubt—one invites one’s own bondage. Pitifully unable to awaken, one at last falls into the causes of karmic obstruction—and that is the outcome.

I tell those who cultivate the Way: you must hold your lineage straight and not be led astray by heterodox teachings or side paths. Keep the heart clear, empty, and calm, and truly nourish Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit). The mysterious pass (xuanguan), the mysterious female (xuanpin)—the gates where nature and life meet in practice—Yellow Dame (huangpo) and the Infant (ying’er)—the inner-alchemical meanings of harmonizing Yin-Yang and the formed primordial spirit—as well as Yin-Yang, Fire and Water, Kan and Li, Qian and Kun, all reside in nothing but the heart-mind within a square inch. What use are all these names and forms? Such appearances were never real to begin with. When the teaching is this plain, what doubt remains? Fail to remove this one layer of obstruction, and delusion will multiply. Yet as soon as that obstruction is gone, another arises: the “obstruction of doctrine.”

This obstruction of doctrine harms the Way even more deeply. Each person clings to a partial view and cannot see with penetrating clarity.

The obstruction of the Confucians lies in clinging to the “substantial.” The obstruction of Daoism lies in clinging to the “empty.” The obstruction of Buddhism lies in clinging to “void.”

Those blocked by “substantiality” seize one-sided principles and treat every illusion of realm, event, and body as real. They weary the heart and waste the spirit, deplete the form and drain Qi (vital energy), thinking all of this is what reason demands—unaware that these very things are the obstruction. As for humaneness, righteousness, kindness, loyalty, filial piety, and integrity in life, these are the vast upright Qi of Heaven and Earth; they should be practiced steadfastly and must not be treated as empty. Yet if one’s understanding cannot round out and one only guards a biased principle, one may instead fall into unfavorable karmic consequences. Small, calculating kindness, narrow righteousness, petty loyalty and foolish filial piety—the Confucian tradition itself ridicules these; how much more so for those learning the Way? Alas, beings blocked by “substantiality” often tumble into the fire pit, and few wake up. I speak of this so that you may reflect in stillness: the mind-seal of sages and worthies lies in silent remembrance and single-minded sincerity, in merging and penetrating until there is full awakening—with not the slightest gap in between.

Those blocked by “emptiness” fix on one doctrine, sit in dull stillness, and only seek to wash away dust. Some even say “the Way is right here,” yet seek no secret keys and do not nourish the three treasures—Jing, Qi, and Shen. Though they speak of reaching emptiness, this is not the Way. The supreme Dao is not found in sheer substantiality alone, nor in merely guarding an empty void; substantiality and emptiness contain each other—this is the subtle pivot.

Those blocked by the “emptiness” barrier cling to one-sided doctrines, fail to recognize true nature, and merely prattle about emptiness. That emptiness is not the emptiness one ought to attain; it is stubborn emptiness—fixating on emptiness as dead stillness. When they should inquire into original suchness and effortless ease, they remain dazed and confused. Whoever bears these barriers cannot integrate and harmonize the teachings, so schools multiply in disarray and mock one another like ice and fire: Confucians call Daoists hollow, Daoists call Buddhists empty, and Buddhists in turn ridicule Confucians and Daoists—on and on without end. They do not see that though the teachings under heaven are divided into three paths, their root is one; it is only because people are caught in the barrier of fixed ideas that they treat the three teachings as divergent roads.

Alas! With the barrier of solidity comes delusion, and delusion makes awakening hard. With the barrier of emptiness comes withering, and withering lacks substance. With the barrier of [wrong] emptiness comes extinction, and extinction turns into annihilation. The sages of old could be solid yet empty, empty yet solid—contemplate emptiness without clinging to emptiness, until emptiness has nothing left to be empty of; that is the supreme Dao. Integration and harmony are how one attains it; once one falls into the barrier of principles, no one truly understands. Can students of the Way fail to take warning?

Even if the barrier of principles can be removed, there is still another barrier, rooted in writing, called the “textual barrier”—which is in truth a barrier of the mind. The five-thousand-word secret discourse (the Daode Jing) arose entirely from profound insight; to treat it as mere letters is to miss its root intent. If one cannot awaken and instead falls into the text, all sorts of crooked doctrines arise—novel and pleasing, seeping into heart and marrow, yet harming true nature and injuring body and form.

The ultimate truth that ancient perfected ones set forth was largely allegory: sometimes speaking of Kan and Li (the water and fire trigrams, standing for yin and yang), sometimes of the furnace and cauldron (the locus of practice), sometimes of the “crimson girl” (a Neidan image, often yin essence), sometimes of the infant (often pure yang or the embryonic elixir), sometimes of dragon and tiger (yin and yang substances), sometimes of yin and yang, sometimes of the mysterious female (the gate of generation and nurture), sometimes of “materials” (medicinals—the stuff of practice)—all of it allegory. Those blocked by the textual barrier take Kan and Li, furnace and cauldron, crimson girl, infant, dragon and tiger, yin and yang, mysterious female, and medicinals as literal references, not knowing that every phrase is figurative.

Trapped by the barrier of words, people fuss over letters and phrases and never know that the Great Dao lies in Jing, Qi, and Shen—the three treasures of Neidan (internal alchemy). Cultivating these three treasures is cultivating the seed. That seed is the root of practice. The many teachings all arise from this one Qi; the root of that one Qi is the seed. Once you recognize the seed, the clamor of doctrines becomes dross; what use is swallowing dross? Clearly, words are not the true exposition of the Dao; you should verify it in your own person, and every word can be set aside.

Having set words aside, you must still treat lineage with care. Lineage is precisely what gives rise to obstacles—here you must see clearly. You should visit widely among high perfected ones (gaozhen, realized adepts) and ask them to transmit the subtle; without a suitable guide, you may carry bodily and mental obstacles for life.

Beginners are still unclear about the Dao. Once they enter the wrong gate and receive heterodox methods (waidao, paths off the mark), teachings multiply without thorough awakening, yet they take them as a compass and follow them for life—body and mind are tightly bound. Even if a true adept later points out right awakening, they may slander it in heart or turn from it in action, passing heterodoxy by talk and trusting heterodoxy by faith—obstacles multiply. Therefore those who study the Dao must choose teachers with care and remove bodily and mental obstacles; when this one obstacle is cleared, the rest quietly dissolve.

When obstacles are gone, the spirit platform (lingtai, the mind-heart) is pure and still, and you can understand the wonder of the five natures. What are the five natures? Water nature, fire nature, wood nature, metal nature, and earth nature.

Earth nature tends toward turbidity; turbidity brings heaviness. Metal nature tends toward cutting decisiveness; cutting brings firm resolve. Wood nature tends toward kindness; kindness brings benevolence. Fire nature tends toward hardness; hardness brings impatience. Water nature tends toward softness; softness brings weakness.

Weakness easily slips into idle wandering and indulgence; impatience easily becomes harsh and cruel; benevolence easily appears warm and mild; resolve easily turns to forceful bravery; heaviness easily sinks into dull obstruction. The obstructed grow foolish; the forcibly brave grow confused; the idle grow cunning; the mild sink into complacency; the harshly enduring grow cruel and cutting.

Each of the five human temperaments tends toward excess or bias; in cultivation, the key is to balance one with another—softness restraining hardness, hardness restraining softness; using benevolence (ren) to shore up firm resolve, and firm resolve to shore up benevolence. When earthiness is too heavy, one easily becomes dull and shut in. Those who are dull and closed tend toward folly; those who are blindly forceful and brave stir disorder; those who are idle and lax drift into cunning; those who are overly mild sink into passivity; those who are harsh and unyielding turn cruel.

Earth’s nature is dim and short on wisdom; it must be checked by clarity and insight. When clarity fails to check it, even softness is applied in a one-sided way.

These five natures stem from the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and the human body fully embodies them: Water is the virtue of the kidneys, Fire of the heart, Wood of the liver, Metal of the lungs, Earth of the spleen. Ming (life-destiny) rests in the spleen, Qi (vital energy) is stored in the lungs, hun (ethereal soul) is held in the liver, shen (spirit) abides in the heart, and po (corporeal soul) clings to the kidneys. To cultivate the person is to cultivate these five virtues so that the five natures are kept whole.

The prevailing qi of each direction differs, and people’s innate endowments differ with it. Those endowed with water tend toward softness—too much softness becomes laziness. Those endowed with wood tend toward benevolence verging on dullness—too much dullness becomes obscuration. Those endowed with fire tend toward hardness—too much hardness becomes violence. Those endowed with metal tend toward decisive firmness—too much firmness becomes stubbornness (bi). Those endowed with earth tend toward dimness; dimness is lack of understanding, lack of understanding leads to straying, and straying turns one from the great Dao (the Way).

The Five Phases in turn arise from Yin-Yang: water is yin, fire is yang; lesser yang (shao yang, the first stirring of yang) is wood, lesser yin (shao yin) is metal; earth partakes of both yin and yang qi yet in substance still counts as yin. Though water is yin, its root lies in yang, so water is bright within and dim without, soft outside and firm within. In Daoist cultivation of body and mind, this means kidney water appears yielding on the surface while inwardly harboring true yang.

Fire by nature belongs to Yang, yet its root lies in Yin; therefore fire’s character is bright on the outside and dark within, soft inside and hard outside.

Wood belongs to lesser Yang (Yang just arising and not yet full), yet in fact it is born from within Yin. Wood can bend and can stand straight: bending belongs to Yin, standing straight to Yang.

Metal belongs to lesser Yin (Yin just arising), yet it is produced from within Yang. Metal can comply and can transform: compliance belongs to Yin, transformation to Yang.

Earth is the harmonizing qi (the balanced qi where Yin and Yang meet), and at the same time it is pure Yin. Fire, wood, metal, and earth all depend on something to which they cling, so each nature places its flourishing in whatever it attaches to.

Understand that the subtle essence of the Five Phases adorns Heaven, their forms are completed on Earth, and their wonder attaches to the human being.

Water is called wisdom—like a dragon that hides its form. Fire is called ritual propriety.